Tipping The Scales
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: Lonely loan shark Kenpachi gives a bankrupt shopkeeper an offer he can't refuse. AU Yaoi Warnings posted inside.
1. Like Chum in the Water

**WARNING: AU, OOCness, foul language, foul play, mentions of drugs and other nefarious things. And sex. Lots of male/male sex. Hopefully. Gangster!Kenpachi and Shopkeeper!Urahara. Let the games begin…**

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter 1: Like Chum in the Water**

* * *

"Ya might wanna give up the names ta me," Gin crooned, staring at the thirty-something year-old man zip-tied to an iron chair. The room was cold and, more importantly, in a building on the dockside.

The man could scream for hours and hours and not even the seagulls would hear him.

"Cuz the boss, my buchou*, ain't _nearly_ as nice as me," Gin continued, setting the blunted blade on the cart beside him. He was about ready to move onto the _sharp_ objects.

He liked to start with the least sensitive nerves and work his way up. Or, well, down, as usually his playthings gave in and begged for death before he ever made it to the ears or bottoms of the feet.

He had to give the man credit: he hadn't screamed yet, which was Gin's area of expertise. If there was anything Gin could claim to be a genius in, it was interrogation and torture.

The man stared at him with dark eyes, ragged breaths swimming in his chest.

Gin smirked, revealing his crimson eyes. The man seemed to shiver upon finally gazing into his interrogator's eyes, but he said nothing.

"Ya've fallen inta' a viper pit, Kariya. S'not tha' hard, ya know? Whether we're the same family 'er not, we're yakuza. Yer lil' coupe got five a' our boys dead."

Kariya's dark eyes narrowed, his pre-maturely graying hair dotted in places with crimson blood. He spit on Gin's shirt, Gin's smile never wavering, "We should've killed much more then that, but somehow one of your lil' bitches got a tip-off. How's your little fuck toy's neck, by the way? At least my men have enough brains ta watch for knives. Yer family will take in _any_ piece of shit off the street, won't they? Your group is nothing like us."

Gin's facial features didn't even twitch, his grin in place. Always in control, even when his insides raged and begged for blood. Before they'd managed to take Kariya down (his other cronies already dead or drowning in their own blood) Renji had decided to play savior and tackled Kariya like a brick wall football player, bent on bringing down one of the top dogs of The Bounts.

The idiot had nearly gotten his throat completely sliced open. There had been blood everywhere, Renji gargling and shaking.

They'd gotten him to a hospital in time, stitched him up, but the wound had still been severe and Renji could barely speak, and when he did, it was raspy. It would be a long recovery.

If he had died…

Gin's smile was sickly sweet as he flicked his lighter back and forth, back and forth, "Goodness gracious gosh golly gee, Yaya, dun' sound so down. I know 'ya got enough brains ta'gether ta' stick a mole in our midst and leak some very private information. I wanna know who ya sold the info to. Simple, yeah? If 'ya help me out, I'll help ya out and not accidentally burn yer whole fuckin' face off."

Kariya flinched as Gin flicked the flame before Kariya's eyes, his instincts stopping him from a moment of masculine bravado.

"Do 'ya have any idea how many nerve endings are on a human body? Ya got any idea what a fourth degree burn feels like?" Gin continued, lifting his shirt to expose part of his left hip, the skin flawed and slightly puckered, "Like yer skin is screamin' an' screamin' and it's never gonna stop. Ya can't think, ya can't breathe, ya can't do anythin' but hope somebody knocks 'ya the fuck out before 'ya scream yerself bloody."

Gin's smile just got bigger, his eyes opening again, "I hope 'ya don't talk, Yaya. I hope I get 'ta slice yer lips and eyelids off and make jewelry outta' yer cute lil' pedicure'd toes…"

The door to the room groaned open, rusting heavy metal of the old packing warehouse sliding open to reveal what would become Kariya's worst nightmare.

Gin smiled with all his teeth, "Mah, heyya, buchou!"

The man, Zaraki Kenpachi, was in no teasing, joking mood. Here it was, nearly three o'clock in the morning, and he'd had to drag himself out of a bed he had literally just fallen into after a day of chasing and beating idiots who thought they could outsmart a black market money shark.

Sometimes, and only sometimes, he wished he'd taken the promotion a little higher up the food chain, but he was good at what he did, and he didn't want to be stuck shitting away time like the Old Man and being in charge of even more people then he already was.

Many whispered that he would succeed the Old Man anyways, considering he had no children and seemed to have no inheriting prospects. Most knew the story, or if they didn't, they embellished it and made other things up.

It was true Zaraki had nearly lost his eye protecting the Old Man back when he was a teenager, fresh off the street (quite literally). He hadn't even been formerly inducted into the family yet as a running errand boy, but it had been instinctual.

Then he'd killed the fucker with his own knife, watching as he choked on his own blade. The Old Man had had his eye on Zaraki ever since.

So word was Zaraki would become the next Old Man. Zaraki sure as hell hoped not. He wasn't cut out for that kind of shit. The hunting…now that was where he belonged. The threatening, the physical, yes THAT was his domain, why the old man had him in charge of one of the main branches.

He was still not at the top of the totem pole, but only the Old Man could summon him like a dog. The Old Man gave him and the other under dons control of their own branches.

Zaraki dolled out punishment when needed. He recruited when needed. He scouted when needed. He did his work, crunched his numbers, found value where there was none. More often then not, he spent his time signing contracts, covered in more ink than blood.

But sometimes…well, Kenpachi could always count on human beings to get cocky or extra stupid.

Like now, but right now he was just tired and frustrated, and had hoped to get at least one night's decent sleep in this past hectic week.

Guess it wasn't meant to be, because Gin almost _never_ called him on his own time (which at this time of the morning was risking _anybody's_ life, much less his younger subordinate's).

So Kenpachi had gotten up and hadn't even bothered to change out of his favorite black pajama pants covered in dynamite sticks proclaiming _KABOOM!_ and a grey wife beater, his black hair down and trailing past his shoulders.

He could have thrown on a jacket to cover the intricate yakuza tag tattoos across his shoulders and trailing down his arms all the way to his rough knuckles, but a bit of intimidation was in order even if his pants were a little humorous.

This fucker in front of him needed to know that he wasn't low-level and under-paid muscle. The white lotuses* adorning both of his hands were testament to his importance.

Kariya's eyes trailed them now as Kenpachi stepped forward, staring down at Kariya, his face impassive.

"Name's Zaraki Kenpachi," Kenpachi grumbled, taking a cigarette from the pack sitting on the rack covered in torture instruments, some of them crusted with blood. He tugged one cigarette out with his teeth and raised his scarred eyebrow at Gin who smirked before offering over his lighter.

Kenpachi lit it, breathing the dangerous chemicals into his lungs before spewing them out like a death-eating demon.

Gin couldn't help but smile so wide his face hurt: the low-lighting of the room sure gave Kenpachi a "don't fuck with me" profile. Helped that buchou was apparently irritated and possibly furious. Gin knew he hadn't been getting much sleep and hadn't seen his kid in over a month.

"More of you 11 Division fucks," Kariya said, tilting his chin up. Gin wanted to rip his vocal chords out with his bare hands for the lack of respect, "Zaraki…they sent _you_ to scare me? A _loan shark?_ What do you take me for? A fool?"

"Must be. I only deal with the biggest fools," Zaraki said, leaning against the wall. Gin didn't know why he had distanced himself so much from Kariya: wasn't he supposed to make the man talk? How was he going to do that without even eye contact?

"I'll never tell. I don't squeal. _Bounts_ don't squeal."

"Course they do. With the right amount of pressure, anybody can break."

Kariya chuckled darkly, "That's what you're gonna do, huh? _Break_ me? Don't make me laugh. What're you going to do? Count money in front of me until I pass out?"

"No," Zaraki said, taking a small photo out of his pajama pants pocket and staring at it, turned away from Kariya.

Gin could see it was driving Kariya crazy to know what it was, but Kenpachi paid him no mind.

"What is that?" Kariya finally said, face guarded.

"Were you a blonde when you were a kid?"

Gin was beginning to get an inkling of where this was going.

"What?" Kariya finally growled, not understanding, "No, you giant ogre."

"Ah. What about your parents?"

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

Zaraki shrugged, tucking the photo back into his pocket, "Jus' wonderin' how your sister's so blonde. Pretty, too. Way too good lookin' 'ta be related 'ta a piece of shit like you."

The silence was deafening, and then…

"You son of a bitch! You son of a _BITCH!_ How did you-"

"You shipped her off to America for college. Arizona, right? At least 'ya were smart enough to get her the fuck out of here before your dumb ass family decided ta fuck itself 'ta hell. Did you honestly think you could take out 11th Division on our home turf?"

"Your Old Man's pushing into our territory! What'd you think was gonna happen, scar shit?"

"You're no threat to us. Never have been. We've been taking over your territory street by street, block by block, for almost a year, and now, just now, you're tellin' me your balls are finally dropping?"

"You took one of our main drug routes. You're pushing on our corners. The kids are comin' for your diluted smack instead of –"

"You're an idiot. It's not about the drugs, although I can imagine with how incompetent your family is that it's your only real source of revenue."

At this point, Gin didn't know if the man was more mentally bled or more physically bled.

His buchou really WAS scary, especially with words. Just one reprimand from him and Gin felt like committing seppuku.

"Take yer head outta yer ass for five minutes and you'd realize the property your shit neighborhoods stand on is worth twenty times more than your petty smack and coke deals. Old Man wants to expand, so why the fuck not? You're too weak, too stupid, to know how to manage your own territory, and so far, we've been playing nice. Even bought out Arrancar Boulevard: every shop on that street is mine and answers to me."

Kariya started laughing hysterically, "You're not Yakuza! You're a fuckin' glorified real-estate agent. Don't make me fucking _laugh_-"

The sound of Kenpachi's fist against Kariya's face was like the archangels sweetest song to Gin. The hit was so hard the iron chair flipped back, knocking the wind out of Kariya as he breathed and groaned.

"Son of a bitch! My fuckin' nose!"

Kenpachi stood over him, his foot descending over where Kariya's more-than-likely-nonexistent dick should be, making Kariya cry out.

"You don't know what the word Yakuza even means. You're just a spoiled little rich kid with an uncle who pulls some muscle in our world. You play gangster because you got your nose in the drug game early: you haven't earned your mark, your place. You haven't spilled your own blood in the name of your family: you haven't done SHIT, so listen up, you impotent fuck. I want the name of the man you sold that private account information to, and I want it now, or I'll rip your dick off, fly to Arizona, and fuck your sister with it before putting a bullet between her big baby blues."

Gin shivered, his hands actually _shaking_ as he listened to his boss's hushed, gravelly voice.

This is why Gin would follow his buchou straight into the jaws of hell if the man simply asked.

"Go to hell!" Kariya seethed.

Kenpachi just stood over him, shaking his head slightly before taking his cell out and typing in a number, holding it up to his ear and waiting.

It took a while to connect, but when it did, Kenpachi spoke, "Heyya, kid. I'm about to kill your piece of shit big brother, so I thought I'd be nice and let you say a few final words."

Kariya was shaking with rage and started thrashing as Gin just smirked in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, enjoying the show.

"Ah, come on, sweetheart, don't cry," Kenpachi continued as Kariya screamed profanities at him in the background about not touching his baby sister, "It's not like that at all. All we need him to do is give us a name, that's all I'm asking. He's just being stubborn. You think you can talk to him a minute? Come on, I'll let you talk to him right now."

Kenpachi got down on his haunches and held the phone to Kariya's ear, the girl's voice absolutely frantic as she talked to Kariya. Kariya was doing his best to reassure her and calm her down, but it was obvious from his eyes that he was terrified.

Then Kenpachi took the phone back, "So, you see the situation, sweetie?"

"Don't talk to her! Don't fuckin' talk to her!" Kariya was screaming, nearly gagging himself he was breathing so hard.

"You look nothing like your brother. You're too smart and pretty to die, don't you think?"

"AIZEN!" Kariya bellowed, thrashing again, "His name was _AIZEN_, I don't know anything else! Hang up! Fuckin' hang up right now!"

Kenpachi looked down at him, flipping the phone shut even though the girl was still clearly distressed, "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Don't you DARE touch her, or I swear to god-"

"Swear to him all you want," Kenpachi grumbled, putting his hands in his pockets as Gin righted the man in his chair, "I'd like to see him try and stop me."

"I gave you what you wanted! I told you what I know!"

Kenpachi just glared at him, his dark whiskey eyes shutting Kariya up, "And you call yourself Yakuza."

Gin smirked.

Kenpachi continued, "Lie to me, I take a finger. Steal from me, I take your hand. Simple logic, then, what happens when you take one of my boys' lives. And you took five of them."

Kariya was shaking uncontrollably as Gin giggled into his ear, his eyes the size of dinner plates.

Kenpachi watched as Gin yanked a thick wire around his neck, gagging him instantly, just enough to cut off his breathing but not damage his windpipe.

"So I'll leave it to Gin here to kill ya five times."

Kenpachi left the room, Kariya's screams echoing off the walls of the warehouse before he'd even made it to his car.

* * *

Urahara Kisuke sighed before smacking his closed fan against his forehead.

He was bored, bored, _bored._

It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week, so of course a small shop that specialized in candies, chocolates, and little toy trinkets wouldn't have much business.

Urahara wouldn't admit that business had been bad for months, but he refused to let the shop go down without a strong fight.

It had been his old man's, and now that he was gone, it was all that was left of his family.

He'd grown up in the shop, back in the days where this area of town was much busier and people took the time to slow down and treat themselves once in a while or took candy home to their kids or sweethearts.

Not so much anymore.

He didn't have anybody but his nephew left, a nephew he had raised himself since the age of four. His younger sister had been shot in a parking lot, leaving a screaming little crimson-haired devil behind to fend for himself.

It definitely hadn't been easy. Thankfully Urahara had been so bright he'd completed a doctorate by the age of twenty, so he'd dropped out of his second doctorate program to give all his time and energy to his adoptive son. After all, it was his sister's blood, so it was his blood, too.

Now, almost twelve years later, Urahara knew he couldn't lose this shop.

The rest of the world didn't have to give a shit about family, but he did. And this is all that was left: him and Jinta, Jinta and him.

_And this store,_ Urahara thought, resting his head on his hand at the front counter.

"Mow."

Urahara looked over at the window he had opened, a sleek, black cat hopping through gracefully before scurrying over and hopping up on the countertop, swishing its tail back and forth in a curious manner, it's wide, yellow eyes set on Urahara's face.

"Ah, well hello there, Yoruichi-san," he said with a smirk, offering the cat a few strokes across its back. The cat mewed happily, curving its back against Urahara's palm to enjoy the attention that much more.

"Not really a stray anymore, then," Urahara thought aloud, proud that the riley and quite notorious demon cat of the block seemed to be tamed (or at least humored) by Urahara's strange ways.

He'd even talk to the cat in front of customers, but nobody seemed to mind.

He was "crazy", after all. Weird, eccentric, strange: apparently he covered the gamut. He'd been "weird" since he was small. Urahara wasn't a bragger, but his IQ was through the roof: it was hard to keep a genius occupied and most of the time he had to rely on his own imagination for friends or entertainment, puzzles and pictures, books, astrology. Science.

"Can't help how I am now, can I?" Urahara asked as Yoruichi purred and settled down for a nap at her favorite spot on the counter.

Maybe he was a little crazy. After all, his mother and father were both killed in a hideous fire when he was fifteen years old, leaving him and his younger sister in the hands of an only older uncle that had been obsessed with perfection and order.

_Mental abuse is still abuse,_ Urahara mused. _But, to be fair, he didn't hit me often._

Urahara's brains had given him enough scholarships to support his sister on his own, allowing them to move out. Then it hadn't been long until his sister had gotten pregnant.

Then, when Jinta had just turned four, she had gotten mugged. Urahara still couldn't go to that supermarket for fear he would see the blood on the parking lot pavement, remember the sight, the smell.

Everybody he loved, gone.

Urahara grinned as he watched Jinta come through the front door, the little bell jingling as he came behind the counter with his backpack, a scowl on his face, "Hey, dad."

Urahara couldn't believe how tall he had gotten over the summer, his skin darker from days in the sun, his incredible natural red hair starting to get a little long compared to the classic Caesar he had sported most of his life. Urahara smirked as he noticed the black lip ring. Well, that was certainly new, but how could Urahara complain? He himself had a nipple ring, a tongue bar, and several tattoos flowering out on his hipbones.

"Hm? You look upset. What's wrong?" Urahara mused, staring at his son with his head cocked. Jinta scowled a lot, but Urahara knew that certain scowls conveyed different emotions.

"Nothing, just tired," Jinta admitted, rubbing his hands over his eyes before putting the backpack on the shelf under the counter, "You need me to do inventory?"

He really did look tired. The purple marks under his eyes were testament to how hard he had been working and pushing himself lately. Not only was he captain of his high school soccer team, he was taking extra night classes to get into an elite college program.

Urahara smiled.

_He might not be my biological son, but he got our side of the family's brains._

"Nah, how about you head home? We've been so slow today I already did it," Urahara said, digging in his green cargo pants pocket and pulling out a few yen bills, "Grab some take-out on the way home."

Jinta raised a pierced eyebrow, "You sure? I don't like you locking up alone."

"Aw, come on, Jin, I'm not an old man. I can handle myself," Urahara pouted playfully, sticking the bills in Jinta's hand.

Jinta grinned, "Could've fooled me. How old did you turn this year again?"

"You brat! Thirty-four is the new twenty-one!"

Jinta snorted, "Arite, old man. I'll see you in a few hours, I guess."

Urahara tried not to squeal as Jinta gave him a hug before leaving. Jinta had always looked like a punk, but he was such a good-hearted and smart kid it belied his ass hole-ish appearance. Sure, he had a temper, but so did Urahara. A rather serious temper when he was frustrated enough.

Not many people got to see the scary Kisuke.

"I am not old. I'm a young, hot, extremely sexy dad with a comfortable and profitable store!" Urahara said to the now-empty store, unwrapping a large lollipop as he did so.

Yoruichi twitched her tail, "Mow."

"Shut up, you."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set. Urahara went about the usual closing duties, whistling Bad Romance to himself as he swept the aisles before heading to the register to cash out for the day.

"800 yen. Not bad, not bad at all."

He stuffed it into his pocket, not wanting to bother with fiddling with the small safe in the back when he knew the bills were just piling up on the desk back there. He hated looking at them.

"Time to teach again," he mused to himself. He didn't particularly like assistant-teaching at the local university, but he had to pay his rent somehow, not to mention the rent on the tiny-ass apartment he shared with Jinta.

"Mow."

"How 'bout some milk before I kick you out?"

"Mow."

Urahara grinned before heading to the refrigerated section of the store and pulling out a small bottle of milk and grabbing one of the plastic candy dishes that were constantly on clearance. He'd been using them for the cat since no one would buy them.

He poured a bit of milk into the bowl and crouched down next to the cat, balancing on his clogs as he watched her drink up her special treat.

He rubbed her ears, smiling at the green and white striped ribbon he had tied on her last week. It was starting to get a little ratty, but he was amazed the cat hadn't wrestled out of it yet.

"You're so pretty, you deserve something nice, right?" he cooed, continuing to scratch her head.

"Mow mow."

The front door bell jingled.

"Ah, sorry, but we're closed-" Urahara began, looking up at an expensive-looking suit. He traveled a little higher to stare at the face of a familiar bald man.

"Ah, Ikakku-san, you are as shiny as ever this fine day!"

"Cut the crap, Cloggy!" Ikkaku fumed, folding his arms over his chest as he glared down at the shopkeeper, "You know what day it is and you know why I'm here!"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," Urahara said, scratching at his chin. He knew his pretend obliviousness was driving Ikkaku crazy. It was so easy to fool kids these days, "Collection day, is it?"

Ikkaku looked like he was going to blow a blood vessel in his shiny forehead, "Look, Cloggy, this isn't just _any_ collection day: you're almost three months behind, and you're not even scratching the interest –"

"Ikkaku, go wait in the car."

Both men turned to look at the man that had silently made his way into the store. How the hell had he not set off the tinkling bells? Even Urahara was wary staring at the tall, broad Yakuza now standing in his store. His black suit was fitted to his intimidating six foot four frame: no doubt this was the top shark if he could afford tailoring like _that_. The suit jacket was unbuttoned, showing the fitted white button down shirt beneath that had a few buttons undone, showing the tops of a very scarred chest. His black hair was sleek and down around his face and Urahara couldn't stare at the scar down his face for long because he was too busy trying not to drown in the dark warm whiskey eyes that were cutting through him like katana blades.

"Eh? But buchou, I-"

"What'd I just say?"

Urahara gulped. With that tone, Urahara would've already been out the door.

Ikkaku simply nodded and passed his boss, heading out the door that tinkled merrily behind him.

Urahara stood up fully, facing the intimidating man that was now standing near him with his hands in his pockets, staring at the shopkeeper like he was sifting for answers.

_Sizing me up, seeing what there is to see. Analyzing, calculating, and keeping a short distance, close enough to strike if necessary, but still far enough to make him not feel like he's being pressured: a very smart Yakuza._

"Ikkaku's one of my best chasers," the man began. Urahara thought that if rocks could be sexy, he imagined that's what the man's voice was like. Smooth on the edges, but there was something commanding, almost like a growl deep in the chest, that made his words feel stronger, louder, than they actually were, "so I give him a lot of give on the leash, but three months? The kid must really like you. Unfortunately, the moments the kid decides 'ta have a heart of gold is bad for my business."

"Oh."

He wandered a little farther, his predatory eyes caressing the shelves and walls, taking it all in, no doubt calculating in his brain what the store probably brought in for profit.

"Ikkaku's slack on this place got me curious, so I took a peak at your accounts. You should've been bankrupt months ago."

"Ah, but I'm not."

"Thanks to me," the man continued, leaning against the counter and for a second, Urahara couldn't help but think what a powerful image the man made even when he seemed at ease, like he was talking to a neighbor about the weather, "I'm not runnin' a charity: your tiny piss-ass payments you've been giving Ikkaku aren't gonna cut it anymore. Hell, the property is worth more than the store itself, and that isn't saying much."

Urahara drew his brows together, an uncomfortable feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, "I'm sorry, Mr. Scary Scar-san, but I will not give up."

The man cocked his head. Yoruichi wrapped herself around one of Urahara's legs before disappearing out the window, grateful for her personal milk provider.

The man finally smiled, his incisors sharp, "The name's Zaraki Kenpachi. And why'd your cat just jump out the window?"

"Ah, well Yoruichi-san isn't really mine, per se. I just feed her sometimes."

"Generous, considering you can barely feed yourself…"

Urahara stared at him, the bad feeling continuing to grow in his stomach.

"…or your son."

Urahara had to grab the side of the counter to steady himself, his heart somewhere in his intestinal tract.

_This is not going well. _

"Don't bring him into this, please."

Zaraki shrugged, "Had to dig, didn't I? Like I said, this isn't a charity. Even loan sharks need insurance, Urahara. Turns sixteen this week, doesn't he?"

"I said…to not bring him into this," Urahara said lowly, his carefree attitude quickly being replaced by the protectiveness of a man pushed too far, "You will not speak of him, nor will you threaten him. Not now, not ever."

"That's not how this works. You've forced my hand here. It's not like I want 'ta hurt a kid, but if you think this place is going to survive another six months, you're gonna be selling that red-headed pretty punk boy to the highest bidder…"

Urahara struck out with a speed that surprised even the seasoned Kenpachi, striking him across the face so fast it reminded him of his hot-blooded ex-wife.

Kenpachi cracked his neck side-to-side, hands still in his pockets as he said, "So you have a death wish too?"

"My son is the only good thing in my life, and you will not threaten that. Not you, not anyone. I can get other jobs, I can start working harder, I can –"

"Your current debt stands at seven million yen, with 14% interest every fifteen days. Even if I seized the property right now, I'd be lucky to make a quarter of that on the open market. You're already dead and buried and don't even know it."

Urahara was practically shaking, his legs numb as his mind turned over and over, "You don't understand, this is all I have-"

Zaraki was closer to him now, steadying him with a piercing gaze, "If you don't want us to take the kid, you'd have to sell this place, leave your shit-hole of an apartment…"

Urahara's eyes welled up with tears at the cold hard facts, "I – I can't, I can't do that to Jinta. I can't…"

"Then what _can_ you do?"

Urahara stiffened as Zaraki grabbed his chin, tilting his head up.

Urahara held tears at bay: there was no _way_ he'd cry in front of this man who was taking his entire world away from him.

"How far you willing to go to save your kid? Save your store?" he continued, his other hand sliding teasingly along Urahara's left hip. Despite his anger and fear, Urahara shivered at the warmth, his spine tingling, the scent of this man something metallic and earthy.

Urahara turned his head away, conscious of the hands that were now running along his lower back, caressing his spine.

He was too smart to play innocent or naïve.

"Anything."

The touching stopped as suddenly as it had started, "Then I think you know what I want. Go home to your kid for a while. A car will come for you at eleven."

Urahara nodded numbly as the man slid his business card into one of Urahara's front pants pockets.

Zaraki started walking towards the door, the sky finally dark.

"Promise me you won't take him."

Zaraki turned halfway, "Hm?"

"Promise me!" Urahara shouted, his entire body trembling from rage.

Zaraki tilted his head, those whiskey eyes still calculating, "You have my word. I own you now. Don't forget it."

Urahara watched the loan shark leave without another glance, the bells sounding happily behind him.

The tinkling of bells would never be a soothing sound again.

Urahara managed to flip the _CLOSED_ sign and lock the front door and drop the blinds over Yoruichi's window before sliding down the wall, head in his hands.

* * *

_A/N: Ah, that was nice. I really love writing these two, even though I'm being really mean to Urahara right now, things won't be angst-y forever. I have plans for these two ;)_

_*White lotus: I don't know if this is a gang symbol, but I'm using it as the symbol for the 11th Division, their trademark that defines them from other gangs and Yakuza families. Obviously I don't know very much about that life, so I'm winging it in terms of structure and execution: I have no idea how loan sharks function, so I'm making shit up and trying to approach it in a way I would, heh heh._

_*buchou: I think everybody knows this if they read manga or watch anime, but I'll put it here anyway – it means boss._


	2. Baiting The Hook

_A/N: I'll update my other stuff soon. I'm just out of it and have a lot going on, including graduation, finding a new job, moving out, fighting with friends and family, and generally trying to decide what the fuck I'm going to do with my life now that I have a degree. Fucking useless shit. -TPP_

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter 2: Baiting the Hook**

* * *

Urahara laid on the couch, freshly bathed, the tv on low as he watched the red numbers of the clock turn over.

10:51.

"I appreciate it, Starrk."

His best friend since high school and next-door neighbor nodded with a hum, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness, "Any time, Kiki."

"You ever going to stop calling me that?"

Starrk's grin was infectious, "Not a chance."

Urahara smiled, his first genuine smile since the news nearly 6 hours prior. He hadn't given Starrk details, but he knew something important was going on. Jinta had already passed out on his calculus textbook in his room, and if he woke up, Starrk was no stranger and tended to crash on their couch all the time. Even if Jinta was sixteen in two days, Urahara still didn't like leaving him home alone to sleep at night.

Urahara stood up and donned a green hoodie, knowing the temperature continued to drop at night this time of year, "Thanks again, Starrk."

"Should I be worried, Kiki?" Starrk asked.

Urahara managed a small half-hearted smile. Starrk was too intelligent for his own good, "Not yet."

* * *

Exactly sixty seconds after Urahara emerged outside his apartment complex, a dark grey Mercedes pulled forward. Urahara assumed it was for him as it continued to idle and an expensive car like that in such a slummy neighborhood screamed Yakuza.

So without any further ado, he opened the back door and slipped onto the cool leather, noting that his driver was a silver-haired man with slitted eyes.

"Mah, small world, ain't it, Urahara?"

"Gin. What a pleasant surprise," Urahara said, his face guarded although he kept his voice light and playful, "It's been, what? Six years?"

"Hai. Ya look good, Urahara-sensei."

Urahara smiled sadly as Gin pulled out of the complex and onto a side street.

"I'm assuming that degree in chemical engineering didn't work out?"

"Mah, 'course it did, but I like ma' job. I owe buchou my life. 'Sides, it's extra cash 'ta do somethin' I love even more than chemistry," Gin said with a sickly sweet smile. He wouldn't trouble his young professor with what he had learned about cetain chemical compounds with his victims. Urahara was the smartest, youngest physics professor he had ever had. He was only six years younger than the blonde genius.

"So…what business ya got 'wit buchou? Must be big if I'm takin' ya 'ta the penthouse."

Urahara fought a smile, "You were never good at lying, Gin. It's disappointing to see you snooping."

Gin's smile was snakelike, "Mah, sensei, don' be so mean."

"You know perfectly well what a midnight rendezvous means. I know it too, although I wish it could be different. We all have our cards to play."

"Strange though. Yer pretty, sensei, but he never brings men 'ta the penthouse."

Urahara shrugged, ignoring Gin the rest of the quiet ride.

* * *

Urahara was escorted to the penthouse suite in one of the swankiest buildings in the Seretei District, a district renowned for its high money and highbrow society. Urahara didn't even feel like he was worthy enough to be riding in the elevator much less be staying in the penthouse suite.

Gin let himself in with a key and ushered Urahara into what Urahara thought was the main living room but was actually a den (he had never seen such a large den in his life) and the room was extremely Spartan: no wall decorations, no extra pillows on the two large brown leather couches, not even a clock. What was the point of living in such an extravagant district and apartment if you didn't make it match the decorating? Besides the large flat screen tv, the room held no other form of entertainment or eye-catching materialism.

"No more calls. Forward everything to Kuchiki or Kensei," a familiar deep rumble said as it passed into the sitting room, "No more disruptions. Next person 'ta leave me a voicemail is getting their balls removed with safety scissors."

Kenpachi dropped the expensive touch screen phone onto an empty side table, his dark eyes landing on Urahara for only a second before he made his way to the large bar built into the wall, picking up and pouring himself some of what was probably two hundred dollar whiskey, "Thanks, Gin. Take the night off."

Gin bowed, smiled, and left silently. Urahara sat quietly on the couch, his nerves starting to get the better of him as he waited in the silence. Kenpachi downed the whiskey before pouring two more and holding one out for him, wiggling it slightly, "Even if ya don't drink hard shit, you do not wanna pass this brand up. Trust me."

Urahara decided that it would probably do his fluttering stomach some good. He stood up and approached the intimidating man, noticing that he was wearing dark slacks and a light grey button down shirt. Did the man ever stop working?

After Urahara drank his, Kenpachi was already pouring two more, offering him a second small glass.

It had been good, but despite what he was here to do, Urahara would keep his wits about him. The situation was too dangerous for anything less than vigilance.

"No thank you. I don't think I could afford the cleaning bill for this place if my stomach decided to protest."

Kenpachi chuckled and shrugged, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, "Suit yourself."

Kenpachi held the last cup and loosened his black tie with the other, making Urahara feel something tug in his stomach. True, it was no secret that Urahara preferred men, but he had never been…attracted?...to one such as Kenpachi. He preferred lean, slender builds.

Ukes. Screaming, boisterous ukes who liked to be spoiled and coddled. Urahara hadn't had a relationship since taking Jinta in, and if he did, they were one night stands or scheduled fucks during lunch breaks, especially now that Jinta was old enough to know that his father was still young enough to want sex as much as the next teenager.

Urahara shook his head. This most definitely was not a relationship. Thinking like that would only lead to confusion, guilt, or hurt feelings in the long run.

This was prostitution. Kenpachi was a willing sugar daddy with what was clearly plenty of money. Urahara would pay his debts, clear his credit as well as his honor, then move on with his life with Jinta to the best of his abilities and try not to be traumatized over what Kenpachi would probably do to him.

Urahara understood: Kenpachi was no uke. No way in hell.

"Only two rules: one, the name's Kenpachi. Not Zaraki, not Z, not buchou, and don't even think about calling me Kenny. Two, I call, you show. I don't care if you're sick as a dog or in bed with Beyonce*, I call, you show."

Urahara nodded once, wondering if he should just start stripping now or…no, Kenpachi looked like the kind of man that just took what he wanted.

Urahra watched him wrestle his tie off and let it fall on the bar before nodding what was left of his drink at Urahara, "Good boy. Now go cook me something 'ta eat. I'm starving."

Urahara watched the man walk out of the room, unbuttoning his shirt as he went, completely ignoring Urahara's blubbered attempts at understanding the situation.

"But I - I'm a terrible cook!"

Kenpachi turned back towards him, his shirt completely unbuttoned now, exposing a wide, intricately-scarred chest and an insane six pack with an abdomen that could probably be hit with a semi truck and not flinch. Fuck the man looked good.

Kenpachi grinned, "Don't play games with me, princess. I haven't eaten all day. I want something waiting for me by the time I get out of the shower."

Intimidation worked wonders.

Urahara swept around the amazing kitchen looking for pots and pans, digging through the fridge and terrified that he would screw this up. If anything, he'd set the place on fire and not only piss the Yakuza off but add onto his already incredible debt.

But…it made him wonder if the Yakuza had plans for him other than treating him like a personal chef. From the way he had been touching earlier, Urahara had assumed…

Urahara jumped to attention when he smelled the bacon sizzling. Urahara wasn't a fan of bacon and eggs, but it was about the only thing he could manage to cook for Jinta without destroying the kitchen.

He was proud he managed not to burn the toast (he was cursed: even toasters refused to cooperate with him most of the time) and he sprinkled some cheese on the eggs. He placed the mound of bacon onto the side of the plate, and buttered the toast.

He was pouring a glass of orange juice when Kenpachi emerged in a white tee and plain grey sweatpants, his hair wet and his body wash something that was sweetly spicy.

It made Urahara's head all fuzzy, but he couldn't say it was bad.

Kenpachi said nothing as he picked up the plate and brought it into the living room, flicking on the gigantic flat screen tv and making himself comfortable on the couch. Urahara watched him, dumbfounded, as he settled on a sports network and devoured everything in front of him.

"You gonna take a seat or stand there all night?" Kenpachi asked, sucking his fingers clean of bacon grease.

Urahara tried to ignore the tightening in his pants at the thought of that giant tongue.

"If you'd like me to."

"Does it really matter what I want?"

Urahara didn't know what to say to that, so he took a seat on the couch. He would've preferred to sit on the other couch, but he would have had to pass Kenpachi to get there, and that would have looked not only weak but stupid.

Twenty minutes in and boring sports news later (Urahara barely watched tv, and he didn't care for football at all) he nearly jumped out of his skin when Kenpachi began talking.

"Relax. Yer stiffer than a wall. The big bad yakuza meanie isn't gonna do anything."

Urahara's eyes went wide, "Excuse me?"

Kenpachi looked at him, remote control in one large hand, "I'm not in the business of rape, if that's what you're worried about. Not my cup of tea, so would you relax? I'm tired and all your tension is gonna make me cranky."

Urahara finally managed to relax after a few more minutes of mindless sports chatter, leaning back into the cushions and letting his mind drift.

But eventually, his mind couldn't stay quiet anymore.

"There has to be something you want. No chef, especially a bad one, makes this kind of cash."

Kenpachi smirked, making Urahara swallow, "Who said that's all you'll be doing?"

"If you don't want to sleep with me, then why…?"

"Never said that either."

"But you said-"

"Never said I wouldn't fuck you."

Urahara fought a losing battle with his blush, "Ah, so is this some kind of psych 101? Showing me a domesticated yakuza so that you'll gain my trust and I'll snuggle up to you and forget that you manipulated me into this situation? I'm sorry but Stockholm Syndrome is extremely unattractive."

Urahara immediately regretted what he had said when Kenpachi's arm shot out and wrapped around his throat, dragging him back towards him and practically pulling him into his lap before he lightened his hold, his other hand anchored into Urahara's hair.

"You agreed 'ta this, princess. Nobody manipulated you into going into debt with a loan shark. No one forced you into that car. Gin didn't hand cuff you and throw you into a dungeon. Is that what you want? You want me to hurt you, beat you, fuck you hard so that you can place all the blame on me? Too bad, princess, the real world doesn't let you walk away from your obligations and problems. Ya walked right into the jaws of hell on your own two feet. You want out? You wanna walk away from this _domesticated_ yakuza?" the way he growled 'domesticated' had Kisuke half hard, although he'd never admit it, "You want to let your son down, your store down? Well there's the fuckin' door."

Kenpachi let go of him, watching as Urahara rolled off the couch and breathed, trying to fight off the sting of tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry."

Urahara couldn't help it. He started sobbing, the weight of responsibility, of regret, crushing him. He was usually good at hiding emotion, used to keeping a cheery, carefree façade for the world to see, but something in Kenpachi's voice (disgust? Disappointment?) was extremely upsetting to Urahara.

"Christ."

Urahra yelped as Kenpachi picked him up and set him on the couch and pulled his head into his lap, rubbing his hair out of his face soothingly.

Kisuke sniffled, trying not to let the tears roll down his face as the yakuza continued to gently run his fingers over Urahara's scalp.

Scary. A moment ago this position had freaked the hell out of him, and now…

"I'm sorry."

Kenpachi gripped his hair, making Urahara cry out and his back bend in pleasure. Hair-tugging was one of his extreme sexual weaknesses.

"Don't tell me, show me."

Kenpachi's grip loosened and Urahara rolled over his position, now face-to-face with Kenpachi's lap. The pants he was wearing were loose, so Urahara tugged at the draw strings and pulled out the largest soft cook he had ever seen. He really hoped Kenpachi didn't get much bigger when erect or his virgin ass was in serious trouble.

"Staring at it isn't gonna get it hard, kid."

Urahara tipped his head up, his blond hair falling over one eye as he licked his lips. He had planned on telling the yakuza he was a grown man, but the licking of the lips and the infamous grey eyes of Urahara Kisuke seemed to be doing a good job all on their own.

Then Urahara swallowed his pride and pretended he was back in college and experimenting. He gagged a few times, but that was to be expected. He had a terrible reflex, and his past partners had never asked for it, so it wasn't like he was a pro.

But he couldn't help but feel proud as Kenpachi's cock began to expand in his mouth as Urahara's other hand began to stroke at the base, massaging over his balls when he realized he wouldn't be able to get it all in on the first few goes (he wasn't sure a human throat could accommodate such a girth).

He startled when he felt Kenpachi's hand in his hair again, tugging gently and making Urahara moan.

"Damn. Not bad, newbie."

Urahara pulled off Kenpachi's cock, drool and a bit of pre-cum rolling down his chin as he looked up at Kenpachi in disbelief, not sure if he was pissed off or not that Kenpachi called him on his cock-sucking skills, "Well excuse me: I didn't make a profession out of this."

"A bit more practice, princess, and ya could. Not that I'd allow it. You're mine."

Maybe it was wrong, but the way Kenpachi had said that made Urahara's gut burn and his cock twitch. He licked at the pulsating nearly purple head again before going back to aggressive bobbing and sucking, his mouth really beginning to get tired and his lips sore as hell.

Urahara shuddered as he felt one of Kenpachi's large warm hands settle on the base of his spine. It didn't seem sexual at all, and it was rather soothing to Urahara as he continued to pleasure the yakuza, Kenpachi's fingers massaging his spine into butter.

He gasped and gagged when Kenpachi's curious fingers found their way underneath jeans and boxers, exploring the cold flesh of his ass.

"I bet you ten thousand yen I can get you off without touching your dick."

Urahara sucked in another breath as Kenpachi tugged at his pants, forcing his jeans to move back enough to expose the globes of his ass. He was still on his knees, breathing onto a straining cock of a yakuza, and Urahara realized he had probably never been this hard in his life.

"I don't think it's a good idea to gamble with money I don't have," Urahara finally managed, his throat burning.

"You just afraid I'll win?"

"I know the power of the prostate, Kenpachi. You're not my first man."

Kenpachi grinned, "Now comes the speech about being a seme, huh?"

"Well, yes, I've never-"

Urahara sucked on his teeth as Kenpachi's now wet fingers(had he sucked on them when Urahara wasn't paying attention?) ran in small circles around Urahara's puckered entrance. He instinctually bucked away from it, but at the same time, he pushed back, the friction in his jeans on his cock counteracting the foreignness of what Kenpachi was trying to achieve.

"Did I say you could quit sucking?"

Urahara rolled his eyes before going back to paying respect to Kenpachi's cock, sucking and nipping halfheartedly until he felt Kenpachi slip a finger in, making Urahara arch his back and hiss at the intrusion.

"Relax, princess."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have a finger currently shoved up your ass."

"You'll be singing a different tune in about sixty seconds."

Urahara rolled his eyes again, his scientific brain scrambling to calculate the probability of Kenpachi's hypothesis coming true when he felt Kenpachi shove in another finger. This time Urahara keened, the burning feeling so uncomfortable even the friction on his dick wasn't helping much at this point.

"It hurts!"

"Of course it hurts, idiot, but you'll feel good in a second."

"Your minute is running out, Kenpachi."

Kenpachi only grunted and shoved Urahara back down on his cock with his hand that wasn't currently hunting down an elusive prostate gland and Urahara growled around Kenpachi's cock, making the larger man laugh breathily.

"You're definitely a hellcat, Kisuke. I like that."

The husked praise went straight to Urahara's dick. It was like he was becoming a whore overnight. He tried to concentrate on getting Kenpachi off (the sooner the better) but Kenpachi's fingers were starting to rub deep, and then…

Urahara let go of Kenpachi's cock with a pop, throwing his head back and arching his back, his hips cantering against Kenpachi's fingers without him even realizing he was doing it.

"Oh god, oh god oh god oh god, oh shit-nnn…nah," Urahara cursed as Kenpachi rubbed mercilessly at Urahara's prostate, "N-no, no, stop, K-Kenpachi, I can't…"

"Should've got you naked first," Kenpachi offered, removing his fingers and listening to Urahara pant and moan at the removal, "Sit up."

Urahara complied, barely conscious of his body's jerky movements as Kenpachi quickly divested Urahara of his hoodie and t-shirt and helped him shimmy out of his jeans and boxers. Naked and extremely hard, Urahara knew he was blushing like a virgin as Kenpachi stroked his own cock languidly, just studying Urahara's body.

"Come 'ere, gorgeous."

Urahara's heart jumped, his cock and ass twitching for more attention.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, Kisuke! Don't be stupid! They're just words!_

"Straddle me," Kenpachi instructed, helping Urahara balance as he climbed over the couch.

Urahara was sure this was going to hurt like a bitch and probably wasn't the best position for his anal virginity, but his body was hot and his ass was aching and he just wanted it all to stop.

Besides, as soon as they got off, he was sure he would be allowed to leave.

He didn't want to think about how that made him feel.

Kenpachi gripped his cock as he lowered himself, Urahara's breath fanning across his face as he balanced using Kenpachi's wide shoulders.

Kenpachi grabbed the pale hips and lowered him, watching as Urahara's eyes closed and his mouth opened in what was definitely a pained pleasure.

He was halfway when Urahara was panting so hard he thought the kid was going to have a heart attack.

"Ah, Kenpachi, I can- I cannnnnn't…hmmm…"

"You're so good. Time 'ta be a big boy now, Kisuke."

Kisuke's eyes snapped open at his name, Kenpachi reading nothing but lust and maybe a bit of challenge.

"You're going to rip me open," Urahara murmured, his arms now wrapped around Kenpachi's shoulders, his sweat-slicked chest against Kenpachi's t-shirt, "I-it real-hnnnnn, Kenpachi…"

And the way he whispered his name, now that, that was the last straw for Zaraki Kenpachi.

He eased himself the rest of the way in, praying to all the kami in heaven that he didn't blow his load upon having himself completely engulfed in the ass virgin's heat.

"Holy shit, newbie. I'm gonna cream you're so fucking tight."

Urahara canted his hips, twisting a little to get more comfortable, his ass positively burning at the stretch, but it was so deep he felt like all his insides were being scratched, "Unh, m-maybe you c-could move, now?"

Kenpachi chuckled, pistoning his hips once and watching Urahara's face contort in pleasure, "You're in charge here, cupcake. You wanna get off, I suggest you start moving those hips with me."

Urahara should have been able to make an argument about that, but his brain wasn't working properly and all he could think about was the heat inside of him and the tightness and _god_ wouldn't the _ache_ just go _away?_

And then he said something he thought he would _ever_ ask a yakuza, "Kiss me, please?"

Kenpachi thought he'd say no: he usually did. Hell, he'd only kissed his ex wife a handful of times in their six-year relationship and he'd never kissed a toy.

So he chalked it up to not having gotten off in over four weeks. Kenpachi had a hell of a sex drive, but he'd been so busy and tired lately even he couldn't make the time or effort for sex, and despite what people assumed about him, he wouldn't sleep with just anybody off the fucking street.

So why the hell had he picked this crazy shopkeeper to begin with? He had simply laid eyes on him and decided he wanted him, and that was that.

It was still uncharacteristic behavior for the yakuza.

Kenpachi didn't want to think about falling for him. That 'first sight' shit always made him gag, but he had to admit, his body was definitely in lust with this young blonde-haired broke dad.

So when Urahara moaned and latched onto his bottom lip, all thought processes flew out the fucking proverbial window.

Kenpachi managed to stand up with Urahara still in his arms, his legs now wrapped tightly around him as he got to the floor between the couch and coffee table and fucked the poor kid through the expensive imported Tibetan rug.

Kenpachi couldn't remember the last time he'd been so turned on by screaming, but Urahara was making him wish he had recorded this to be enjoyed on his ipod on a business flight later that week.

Fuck, the kid had a sweet set of lungs.

"Oh god, Kenpa – nnnn, there! There there there!" Urahara sobbed, his fingers tugging harshly on Kenpachi's hair. The action usually agitated Kenpachi: he was a rough fucker, but the hair tugging had always been nothing but a distraction from what his dick was after.

But right now, he couldn't stop staring at Urahara's totally unguarded face. Had this kid seriously never been fucked stupid before? Kenpachi couldn't believe how lucky he'd been to bag this 'seme' if this was the result: he was totally gorgeous everywhere, especially his face, his eyes hooded and his hair fanning out and sweaty. Kenpachi had probably never fucked a guy this gorgeous. He'd fucked a few pretty boys, but Kisuke had something else, a spark of something, even a smell that turned Kenpachi on.

Without any warning, Urahara let out one more scream before coming between them, a hand scrambling for his cock as it leaked and Kenpachi's thrusts didn't stop.

He placed a hand under Kisuke's left knee, giving him better leverage as he continued to pound into Kisuke with a slurping, slapping noise.

He was usually good to go for a while like this, but the second Kisuke moaned and hooked his pointer and middle finger into his mouth and gasped, Kenpachi lost it.

"Fuck," he growled, shoving himself as deep as he could as he felt himself explode. He couldn't resist moving a few more times, snapping his hips as he felt his own hot cum begin to dribble out and down the sides of his new and only playmate.

He finally pulled all the way out, his fingers probing at Urahara's wet ass. Urahara cried out weakly as he fished inside, letting more cum fall out onto his hand before leaning forward and pushing his wet fingers into Urahara's mouth, "Suck it all up, princess."

Surprisingly, Urahara couldn't find the will to protest. He stuck his tongue out and lapped at Kenpachi's fingers before grabbing his wrist and sucking the fingers all the way into his mouth, sighing when he couldn't taste the salty liquid anymore and letting the hand go to lay against his naked chest.

"Fuck. You have no idea how sexy you are, do you?" Kenpachi asked, hoping Urahara was still so high from his orgasm that he wouldn't notice the reverent tone.

"Mmm. Shower…" Urahara mumbled, already closing his eyes.

"How 'bout a bath? I don't want to listen to you bitch tomorrow about your back and ass."

Kenpachi disappeared to run the water into his Jacuzzi tub before coming back to retrieve the nearly asleep Kisuke. He mumbled and sighed a lot, but Kenpachi didn't mind carrying him. He settled Kisuke into the now-full tub and lowered himself behind him, telling himself the entire time that this did _not_ make them exclusive lovers.

"That was good," Urahara sighed, resting his head back on Kenpachi's chest, "I mean, _really_ good."

"Careful what you say, princess. I might not give you time to recover," Kenpachi said, rubbing his hands over Kisuke's legs soothingly.

"I love your bathtub," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"You love my cock."

"You know, I had really hoped that I wouldn't."

Kenpachi chuckled, the vibrations making Urahara's eyes flutter open only to rest half-lidded.

Kenpachi knew there was no way the princess was ready for another round, and he _so_ did not fuck the unconscious, but shit, the blonde was beyond gorgeous like this.

"I don't want to like you, Kenpachi."

"Then don't like me."

Urahara sighed again, tilting his head up to stare at Kenpachi and Kenpachi could _swear_ his heart stuttered harder than when he had nearly lost his eye. Urahara leaned his head back onto Kenpachi's tattooed shoulder and placed a chaste kiss on the side of his throat.

"I'm sure I'll hate you in the morning."

Kenpachi laughed and tried not think about how that made him feel.

* * *

_A/N: Aw shit, here I was working on this because I wanted to write something angry that led to sex, maybe even rape, and what the fuck do I end up with? I'm disgusted with myself. It got WAY too fluffy at the end, but I refuse to re-write it. Anyways, in other news, my first ever detailed Kenpachi/Urahara smut. My ovaries exploded writing that, I hope you know._

_*One of my favorite lines from Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift. Sung Kang is a fucking god. _


	3. Rip Tides

_I'm incorporating a few new characters this chapter, but don't start begging for "pairings" yet, I have a plan. You'll know it when you see it. -TPP_

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter 3: Rip Tides**

* * *

When Urahara blinked his eyes open, he was thoroughly surprised.

No, really, he was, because his ass had never screamed at him like this before, and all he could do was grunt before burying his head deeper into a pillow that smelled like Old Spice and brandy.

Mmm.

Urahara shook his head and tried to gather his wits about him. Wouldn't help to remind himself WHY his ass and lower back were in so much pain, his muscles just stiff enough to remind him of a thorough fucking that he had most definitely enjoyed and participated in. For once, his scarily smart mind had been shut off, a feeling he was pretty eager to repeat.

However, now that the 'deed' was done, how to go on from here? After all, there was no way his debts were repaid from one night of hot sex (once in the living room, then one very, very enjoyable round in the yakuza's bed after a bath that had nearly put him to sleep).

He remembered passing out after cumming the second time, although from the feel of his ass, he was sure the yakuza had kept going until he himself had reached completion.

"Bastard," Urahara mumbled, but it was practically a chuckle.

He rolled over before sitting up: the burning in his ass could be ignored as soon as he had some coffee and took some Advil. A bedside clock informed him it was nearly three o'clock in the afternoon and he shot out of bed, rummaging for his clothes and his cell phone.

He immediately connected the call, terrified, before remembering it was Thursday. Jinta was still in school, so he speed-dialed his best friend.

"Everything's fine, Kiki. My day to open the shop, remember?" Starrk answered with a long, drawn-out yawn. Apparently the store was so dead he'd fallen asleep on the register again, "Everything gravy, or should I start worrying?"

"Like you could ever work up enough energy to worry, dog breath," Urahara joked, donning his boxers tentatively, ignoring the slimy feeling of his ass, the itch of dry cum on his thighs. He'd get cleaned up in his own shower, "I'll be there in an hour or so. The delivery invoice is on my desk, underneath the stack of-"

"Yeah, I found it underneath the kitten folders. Very cute, Kiki. If I didn't already know you were a raging gay man, I would from the office décor. I think me and Jinta are gonna have 'ta man that up for you."

"Don't you dare touch my precious kawai things!" Urahara said pitifully, his voice rising and cracking at the thought of Starrk setting fire to his chibi panda bobble head collection, "Like I said, I'll be over as soon as I get cleaned up and swing by Shunsui's."

"Really, Ki, I got this. It's so slow just take the day. You own the place: take a break. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

Urahara sighed and nodded, then remembered his friend couldn't see him, "Well, if it's really that slow…"

"It's always that slow, you know that," Starrk said, a smile in his voice, "See ya."

"Yeah. Bye."

Urahara hung up. There was nothing romantic between him and Starrk, but sometimes Urahara felt like they were married or something. Starrk seemed to be the man that always made sure Urahara didn't forget things, overlook things, kept things in order. He had practically raised Jinta alongside him, earning the title of uncle. A few years ago Starrk's girlfriend of nearly five years left him, driving him to drink himself into a gutter that had ended with him and Urahara in bed.

Thankfully, the one time was enough for them to realize nothing romantic would ever work out between them: Starrk had just been in need of comfort from someone he trusted, the only person he trusted. The friendship hadn't been threatened, if anything, it strengthened it. Starrk didn't have much family, didn't keep in contact with them, and Urahara had no one but Jinta, so they were a tight-nit family and weren't willing to lose that.

So that was all water under the bridge, but Urahara couldn't help thinking where he'd be right now if Starrk hadn't stayed such a steady rock in his life, a role model for Jinta, an incredible friend and mentor.

Urahara Kisuke was a lucky man, despite his current circumstances.

Urahara wandered out into the sitting area to retrieve his jeans, sliding into them with a bit of discomfort and donning his t-shirt and throwing his hoodie over his shoulder to fix his belt when he heard a whistle from the kitchen area like a coach on a football field, a sharp sound that made Urahara nearly jump out of his skin.

"Good, Sleeping Beauty woke her pretty self up. No time for hair and makeup, princess. I have places to be."

Urahara stared at the young blue-haired punk standing with a hip cocked against one of the kitchen counters. He was wearing black pants and a plain black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. If it weren't for the intricate lotus tattoos on his forearms that mirrored the ones on Kenpachi's hands, he wouldn't have thought the boy yakuza, just somebody that could probably kick his ass on the street. He couldn't be older than twenty-three.

The boy slurped some Chinese takeout lo mein noodles into his mouth before tugging at his sloppily-done white tie and raising an eyebrow at Urahara, "What? Ya got somethin' ta say? Buchou said 'ya wouldn' gimme no trouble. Did Scar Face lie 'ta me?"

"Um…who are you, exactly? And where's Kenpachi?" Urahara said, arms now folded over his chest as he regarded the punk who was probably half his age and extremely irritating in an adorable kind of way.

"Buchou's been gone for hours, stupid. Had business downtown and left me 'ta babysit his new squeeze. Touchin', really. When I said I wanted a promotion, didn' know Scar Face would fuck around wit' me like this. Name's Grimmjow. I'd tell 'ya my last name but I can't pronounce it," he said with a smile that showed all his sharp teeth, "So you're the candy man. Baldy talks 'bout'cha, and Gin couldn't keep his mouth shut during poker last night. Nice to meet you."

"…likewise," Urahara said, approaching the young yakuza and eying the takeout containers strewn across the area. His stomach rumbled instantly.

"Eat up! Just got here 'bout twenty minutes ago. I was starvin' and buchou doesn't give us breaks on the run."

Urahara picked up the container that held pork fried rice and raised his eyebrows, "Where are we going?"

"I'm s'posed to drop you off at your place then take off. Other than that, can't tell ya. You ain't yakuza."

Urahara raised an eyebrow, "Fair enough. I'll just eat quickly then and be on my way. I don't need a babysitter."

Grimmjow smirked, "Most prostitutes don't. Surprised you don't have stilettos on, sweetie."

Urahara smirked as he chewed on his rice, meeting Grimmjow's eyes, "Left them at home. That's a special package deal."

Grimmjow threw his head back and laughed before attacking his noodles again, "Shit, Candy, you're arite in my book. Been a while since buchou's had anything with brains and some bite."

Urahara smirked at the new nickname: whether it was in reference to his shop or a hooker jab, Urahara didn't mind, "I'm in debt. I don't have any other way out. I'm a man of my word, which I know means something to you yakuza boys. I won't allow anything to happen to my son."

"A wise man," Grimmjow said with a nod as he grabbed a pair of keys off the counter next to him, "Come on, just eat in the car, Candy, and try not 'ta ruin daddy's new upholstery."

* * *

An hour and a shower later, Urahara felt refreshed and a lot less ache-y as he sat on a stool at Shunsui's. The man who owned it, Shunsui, was the definition of never-going-to-grow-up-bachelor.

"Another round, Kisuke?" the man said sliding along the bar top with a wink, his wavy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was a small arrangement of pink flowers in the hair band, making Urahara chuckle: the man needed a shave and a few sips of sanity.

"You _do_ know this is a coffee shop, right, Shun?" Urahara replied, taking another sip from his giant mug. It was a new concoction Shunsui had just released a few weeks ago and it was like heaven had itself a threesome with caffeine and cinnamon.

Shunsui's face fell as he dramatically grabbed at his chest like he was having a heart attack, "You _wound_ me, Urahara! This is not _just_ a coffee shop: this is _the_ coffee shop."

Urahara had to admit it was the best coffee shop in the city, although from the outside, it most definitely looked like the entrance to a nice bar. Once inside, the motif still looked like a bar, complete with pool tables and a jukebox. The 'coffee bar' even had mirrored panels behind it and plenty of bistro and espresso equipment. They had an extensive drink menu, none of which actually included alcohol (unless you knew Shunsui personally, then he tended to spike whatever you ordered with whiskey unless you explicitly told him not to). The place was always busy, always full, so Urahara was lucky to have grabbed a stool when he did or he'd be left standing. Shunsui's 'bar tenders' were extremely attractive women with chests that put mountains to shame (probably why the place made a killing in tips) but Urahara seriously didn't think he could live without the concoctions the mad genius cooked up, such as what he was sipping right now: Shunsui's Suicide Sake Latte.

"Another Suicide Sake Latte?" Shunsui sing-songed, seeming to know what Urahara was thinking even as Urahara tried to finish the one he had in his hands.

"No way, Shun: I'd actually like to be able to _sleep_ tonight, not sometime next year, thank you very much."

Shunsui laughed before being tapped on the shoulder by his most popular bartender, a cheeky woman by the name of Rangiku who had given up hitting on Kisuke years ago. Shunsui immediately slipped into business mode as he began helping other customers and making other orders, leaving Kisuke alone to think in relative peace.

After another half hour of rejuvenation, Kisuke felt a lot better and ready to go home and clean up a bit. His apartment was small and definitely in need of a little cleaning, and cleaning had always helped Urahara think through his stress. After sweeping and mopping the tiny living room and kitchenette he vacuumed Jinta's room and made his bed, doing his best as a dad not to snoop, but he eventually gave in.

It took him less than five minutes to find Jinta's porn stash and it made Urahara giggle like a mad man until he opened the magazine with a big-busted woman only to have another magazine fall out of the middle. He bent down and picked it up, his eyes going wide as he took in the man-on-man BDSM cover.

He flipped through it, trying to imagine what his son was _into,_ much less _(DOING?)_ at sixteen years old.

He must have been staring at it longer than he thought because the next thing he knew he heard the door to the apartment open and close and Kisuke hurriedly tried to shove the magazines back into their hiding place (a fake bottom in his school desk underneath a school schedule notebook and some erasers, the little stinker) and cursed when his finger got slammed in the drawer, Jinta standing in the bedroom doorway, his eyes hooded in a bored manner as he took in his snooping, conniving adoptive dad.

"Aha, Jinta! Hello there! This, uh, most definitely is NOT what it looks like! You see, Yoruichi wouldn't stop meowing at this drawer and, well I just HAD to investigate~"

Jinta raised a pierced eyebrow, "Wow, call the papers: our cat must have super powers and teleported because I just fed her some fish at the shop."

Urahara, unwilling to give up on his spun tale, began looking around the room before hugging his son to his chest, "Oh my _gawd,_ then _WHO'S CAT WAS THAT? !_ It could have _RABIES!"_

Jinta snorted at his stupid father's antics, "Cut the crap, just admit defeat. Yes, I have porn magazines: I know where your stash is too, so no judging."

"So so so _so_ not judging," Urahara said, pointing a finger at himself, "Least likely to judge _ever_, you know that, Jin."

"Uh-huh, so why were you snooping?"

Urahara shrugged, "It's your sixteenth birthday tomorrow: I guess an old man just wanted to reminisce."

Jinta rolled his eyes, "So is this the part where we sit and have 'the talk'? 'Cuz honestly, dad, I think the one you gave me when I turned twelve was painful enough for the both of us."

Urahara's face fell, "You didn't like my pictures? I worked so hard on them…"

Jinta's face lit up in embarrassment before he punched Urahara on the shoulder playfully, "Those awful pictures are probably why I'm gay, old man."

Urahara smirked, ruffling Jinta's crimson hair, "Just be careful, sport. Use condoms, lube, and no threesomes on school nights, okay?"

Jinta growled in frustration before fixing his hair, "Dad, seriously, grow up!"

"Never!" Urahara crowed, throwing himself on top of Jinta's bed and trying not to wince when his ass hit the springs just a little too hard. Damn it, Kenpachi really had done a number on him last night.

Jinta tackled him in the next second and put him in a headlock: Kisuke played along, letting Jinta win. Jinta was six months or less away from becoming a black belt, but he had no idea Kisuke had taken four different martial arts in high school due to academic boredom and had mastered three of them.

It was nice to keep some secrets to himself.

Eventually they both tired out and just laid there before Jinta said, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Urahara's heart thundered, "N-no. Why?"

Jinta shrugged, "If you did, you know I wouldn't care, right? You don't have to sneak around, dad: I know why you left last night. I'm not an idiot."

Urahara stared at his son with a forced half-smile, "What are you talking about? Just went to hang with Shunsui and have a few drinks."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Urahara burst into laughter, "Do you think I'm _suicidal?_ His lovely little lawyer wife Nanao would disembowel me, not to mention his children."

Jinta shrugged again, "Stranger things have happened. You're my dad, and I know you don't bat for pussy, so just be happy, ok? You don't have to hide stuff from me. I'm getting too old for that."

Urahara really loved his son when he had these moments of such strong maturity. He really was beyond his years. Urahara nodded, not laughing it off: he'd give Jinta more respect than that, "Can't believe you're sixteen tomorrow. I really am an old man, and you're growing up way too fast. Who's the adult here?"

"Obviously me," he replied cheekily, getting up and heading for the kitchen. He always started dinner or, if he didn't cook everything himself, at least set stuff up for Starrk. Urahara was so lucky.

And pretty damn content. This was not a bad life.

His cell phone rang. He looked at it and did not recognize the number.

His stomach fluttered as he lifted the phone to his ear, thankful Jinta was clanging around in the kitchen with the tv blasting his favorite music station.

"Hello?"

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Be ready to be picked up, princess."

Urahara didn't like the flood of heat through his body at the deep, demanding tone, "That's not much time: I can't leave my son here alo-"

"He's a big boy, or you want me to leave Grimm to watch him?"

Urahara panicked at the thought: although he thought the blue-haired punk was an obnoxious riot, he didn't know him from Eve and certainly didn't want a stranger in his house, which would only make Jinta more suspicious, "No, I'll handle it."

"Ten minutes, princess."

The line went dead. Urahara texted Starrk, asking him if he was closing up the shop and on his way home when Jinta poked his head in the door, making Urahara nearly jump out of his skin again.

"We didn't have enough money for meat this week, so no meatballs for the spaghetti, k?"

Urahara blinked, then slowly nodded as Jinta went back to the kitchen, making Urahara's stomach roll around and his head hurt.

_I can't even feed my son properly. I haven't even gotten him a birthday gift yet. I'm a terrible person._

Urahara's phone beeped at Starrk's incoming message: _**Almost home. Why?**_

Urahara sighed and replied: _**Need to leave in 10 mins.**_

Urahara went to his room, changing into a pair of beige cargo pants and a simple black long-sleeved shirt, annoyed when the hem got stuck on one of the silver studs in his belly button.

Another beep: _**You gonna tell me who this mystery guy is now?**_

Urahara faltered, still not sure if he should involve Starrk.

No. It wouldn't be safe. Starrk knew he was in serious debt with a loan shark, but he didn't know how he was paying. It was only a matter of time until he found out about it anyway, but Urahara just couldn't face it right now, at least not through text messaging.

_**I can't right now, but I will . I promise.**_

Starrk didn't reply.

Urahara made his way to the kitchen, flicking his bangs out of his face as he stopped by Jinta and kissed him on top of his head. Jinta was used to the constant affection, unlike his teenage friends who said that kind of stuff was for little babies.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. I forgot I was meeting up with Isshin! He's going to chew me out for sure this time," Urahara said with a small smile as he headed for the front door.

Jinta knew Isshin was an old family friend, nothing more. Besides, Jinta knew his only son, Ichigo, was a few years older than him and they used to fight like cats and dogs, "Oh, ok. I'll save you some in the fridge."

"Starrk's almost home. Don't stay up too late, school tomorrow," Urahara decreed with a wave as he walked out the door.

He was at the bottom of the stairs of the apartment complex when Starrk appeared, hands in his pockets as he regarded his best friend and part-time boss.

Shoot shoot shoot. Urahara didn't want him to see him getting into any fancy, questionable cars.

"I'll be…well, I don't know how soon I'll be back," Urahara sputtered, hoping Starrk would just let him go and ask questions later.

Starrk nodded, his eyes looking sad, "Take care of yourself, Kiki."

The way he said it made Urahara feel like an ass hole. All his friend wanted to do was care about him, protect him. They were closer than brothers, dammit.

"Starrk –"

"Go on. I think a Bentley is waiting for you."

Urahara didn't know what to say: Starrk was, and always had been, extremely perceptive. How had he ever thought he was going to be able to hide this little loan shark arrangement?

Starrk disappeared up the stairs and Urahara headed for the silver Bentley just pulling into the complex.

Urahara climbed into the backseat, instantly confronted with a grumpy-looking Kenpachi, a cigar in his hand, his black suit impeccable, a blood red tie at his throat, his nightmare black hair in thick spikes. Urahara thought, in that moment, he couldn't look any more intimidating in the underworld.

"Close the door, princess. I don't got all day."

Urahara closed the door behind him, ignoring the leering grin of the blue-haired driver.

* * *

Urahara was surprised when instead of pulling up in front of the building in Seretei, they ended up at a mansion-like property on the outskirts of the city. The place was gated and Urahara couldn't help but wonder what kind of real weight Kenpachi tugged around in the yakuza world if he was able to afford this constant lavishness.

"How many homes do you have?" Urahara said in awe, the Bentley finally pulling around a curve, Grimmjow hopping out to open the door for his buchou.

Kenpachi didn't answer as he got out, dropping the last of his cigar onto the pavement as Grimmjow went to the other side of the car and helped Urahara out.

"Word a warnin', Candy: I'd be real, real sweet tonight," Grimmjow whispered to him before getting back in the gorgeous machine and leaving.

Kenpachi had already unlocked one of the huge front doors and walked inside without a second look back.

Urahara followed after him quickly, shutting the door behind him and thankful for the moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the backside of the house that showed off an impressive lighted-up giant pool or he'd be stumbling around in the darkness.

Kenpachi flicked a switch along the wall and some low lighting came up in the dark-furnished living room area. It was still a little too dark to tell if the walls were a rich brown or red, the fireplace empty and too clean, possibly never used.

Again, not much decoration. Barely any. Besides the lighting, the furniture, and the mantle, the room was sparse.

Kenpachi kept moving, pulling off his suit jacket and tugging at his tie as he disappeared around the corner into what must lead to the master bedroom, "You know the drill, princess. Kitchen's through the living room on the left."

Urahara stopped his gawking to watch Kenpachi's back disappear down another hallway, not sure how to feel about Kenpachi's tone. Grimmjow HAD warned him about the man's apparent bad mood, not to mention the silent tension in the car. Urahara wasn't an idiot: he read body language better than verbal language, a habit from his childhood.

"Behavior can't lie," Urahara murmured to himself, the guilt of keeping this from Jinta and Starrk beginning to settle unhelpfully in his gut.

He headed to the kitchen. It helped that he was now starving and determined to make something amazing to brighten the abysmal mood now in the house. Kisuke, again, reminded himself that this was a business arrangement, not a lover trying to comfort, but there was no way he was going to allow the night to go against his own favor.

If a happy Kenpachi kept his ass from bleeding in the morning, then a happy Kenpachi shall there be.

Urahara was actually quite blown away by the perfect kitchen: a wet dream to any proper chef, but Urahara, again, was quite lost.

"You can do this, Urahara," he pep-talked, beginning to move around the kitchen. He quickly memorized where everything was (a genius brain helped sort that out) but cooking involved a little more than memory. Considering a lot of cooks considered it a form of math or science, Urahara was amazed that he wasn't a better cook.

He would make something nice, something delicious, and he was going to do it right now, damn it all!

He hunted through the refrigerator and freezer, turned the oven on, turned the stove on, set pots to boiling, and diced tomatoes.

His brain pulled up an Italian chicken dish he had watched on the food network a few weeks ago with Jinta: his brain played the episode silently back to him in his head, Urahara's mouth supplying some whistling. Music always kept him calm and centered.

He almost burned the sauce, a combination of lemon, cooking wine, tomato and garlic. He cooked the chicken carefully, fully concentrating as the mushrooms were added. He loved mushrooms, and thought it would go nicely with the spicy tang of the sauce. Some cheese, some penne noodles, and voila.

The plates and silverware looked expensive, but they were there for a reason. Urahara took asparagus out of the microwave (he was sure it was some kind of travesty to chefs out there if they knew he'd put fresh market asparagus in a microwave with butter and salt, but at this point, he didn't know when the yakuza would walk in).

The meal complete, his stomach rumbling, he turned to the sink to soak the pan that had held the sauce when he felt a presence behind him.

Large hands on his hips, a breath along the top of his head.

"Sure looks like you know how to cook, princess."

Urahara swallowed thickly, turning slowly to face the yakuza, "It'll probably taste horrible. I've never cooked something like this. I –"

Kenpachi wordlessly moved to the side to rummage in the refrigerator, pulling out a six pack of bottled beer and heading for the table. Urahara didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing that there was empty whiskey glasses in the living room. How long had the yakuza been done with his shower and waiting for the food?

Urahara put the food down in front of Kenpachi and took a seat at the other end of the table with his own plate, his mouth salivating.

They ignored each other as they dug into the food, Kenpachi sliding a beer to Urahara when he'd finished three himself.

Urahara didn't think it was very classy to eat Italian with a beer (isn't that what wine was for in the restaurants?) but oh well, he needed something with this chicken.

It wasn't bad, but the noodles tasted a little rubbery. At least the sauce was finger-licking good.

Kenpachi was staring at him.

"What?" Urahara finally asked.

"Keep slurping on your fingers like that and I'll end up breaking you on this table," he warned, a little more than half-serious.

Urahara dropped his hand, unaware he had been licking his fingers like that. He just really liked the sauce! Was that a crime?

Kenpachi finished his beer, slamming it down before standing up and pulling off his shirt. Urahara just realized he was wearing black swim trunks, but his eyes were having a hard time moving away from those perfect hip lines and abs.

"Jacuzzi. Now."

Urahara stood up, knowing Kenpachi was still not in a good mood. There went the theory that a good meal and a full belly would get the man to relax.

Maybe that's what the Jacuzzi was for. Something had happened today because the man's aura was darker than it had been yesterday, and Urahara was not willing to risk the man's unknown wrath.

Urahara followed Kenpachi out onto the pool deck, passing the pool to a grove surrounded by manicured bushes that had a large Jacuzzi planted in the stonework, the jets and lights on. Urahara had been studying the man's broad back the entire way, amazed at the amount of intricate ink work on the man's back. That was hours and hours of old school yakuza 'blade' tattoo work to create the unique deep reds, blues, greens, and blacks. A ferocious, ascending dragon, a dragon of rank and honor. More knife marks, even what Urahara knew to be stab wounds, were on his side.

Fuck, Urahara thought. Who in their right mind would want to piss this man off? Thankfully, or not so thankfully, they looked old.

Urahara started wondering what this man's history was, especially as a child.

Kenpachi slipped into the hot water without another word, his half-finished whiskey in his hand. Urahara hadn't even seen him pour it. Was he that out of it because he couldn't for the life of him stop staring at the man's body?

"Get in."

Urahara removed his shirt and pants, thankful he'd worn dark boxers as he got in the Jacuzzi facing Kenpachi, Kenpachi's eyes on his mid drift. The bench was high enough (or the water low enough) that the tops of their chests were still exposed.

"Didn't notice your jewelry last night," Kenpachi commented, eyes zeroed in on Kisuke's silver nipple stud.

Urahara felt his face and neck flush, but what was he kidding? He had a mission: he had to put Kenpachi in a good mood.

If there was anything about this man he thought he knew, Kisuke knew teasing wasn't going to be something he'd appreciate too much.

So Urahara dunked under the water before standing back up, running his hands through his now wet locks before approaching the yakuza and straddling his hips.

Kenpachi's face was a little surprised, a little turned on. Urahara could work with that.

"I like jewelry," Urahara said, placing one of Kenpachi's hands on his lower abdomen and over his belly button so he could feel the studs at the same time Kisuke slipped his tongue out to show off the silver ball on his tongue.

That most _definitely_ had not been in his mouth last night, or Kenpachi would have remembered it from the blowjob. Fuck, surprises surprises.

Urahara shuddered as Kenpachi shifted his weight, forcing Urahara's ass more firmly against Kenpachi's growing erection.

"What's your game?" Kenpachi mumbled, tweaking Urahara's nipple stud. Urahara jerked, already getting turned on. He'd never done anything in a hot tub before. He didn't want to think about the horror stories he'd heard about sex in a hot tub*, not right now, not when this could result in a happy ending for both of them.

Urahara decided to be honest, "You're in a bad mood. I don't know why and I don't want to know why, but…I just…."

"…Wanna play nice?" Kenpachi finished for him, his hands moving to Urahara's hips as he cantered his hips, making Kisuke whine slightly, his fingers digging into Kenpachi's shoulders, "You gonna take away my foul mood, princess?"

"Yes," Urahara murmured, hoping he didn't sound like a wanton slut already, his fingers dragging down Kenpachi's insane chest and massaging over his abs that jumped at his attention, "besides, if you're in a good mood, you'll give me tomorrow off to spend with my son for his birthday."

Kenpachi barked a laugh, one of his hands settling over Urahara's now straining erection, "The wheels in that brain never stop turning, do they? You surprise me."

Urahara decided to fight fire with fire: he could seduce this man. He would PROVE that he could. His eyes half-lidded, he made sure his feet were placed solidly against the smooth curved stone wall behind Kenpachi, his hands bracing Kenpachi's shoulders as he began to twist and gyrate his hips. He'd taken a few pole-dancing classes for shits and giggles with his old (and equally gay) college buddy Shinji and, hell, wasn't now just the perfect time to show what he could do?

Helped they were in hot water, too, but he was sure these skills could come in handy on dry land, when Kenpachi needed more buttering up.

Kenpachi's eyes were nearly black at the sudden eye candy before him, including the feeling of the hot water in combination with Kisuke's ass rubbing rhythmically against him, his hips moving in a way that had Kenpachi wondering if the candy man had a past that included being a stripper.

Bonus for him.

Urahara yelped when Kenpachi's hands went to Urahara's ass and lifted him at the same time as he stood up, Urahara having no choice but to wrap his legs around Kenpachi's waist as Kenpachi waded through the jet water to the other side, putting Urahara down on the stone top of the Jacuzzi, his own body still in the water.

"Perfect height," Kenpachi grinned, staring down at all that blonde splayed out perfection. Urahara was breathing unevenly now, his skin flushed from the hot water, his strong legs flexed outward to accommodate Kenpachi's hips. Kenpachi ripped the boxers right off Urahara, making him cry out as the material tore and was lost to the Jacuzzi.

"Kenpachi!"

"Forget 'em. You don't need 'em right now," he said, dropping his own swim trunks, his cock ready for that perfect hole. He slicked his fingers and probed at Urahara's ass, listening to his breath hitch as he invaded the pink pucker.

He grinned, thankful for the idea of coming into the Jacuzzi, the hot water having relaxed the muscles quite a bit, the inside wet and slippery already. He started scissoring almost immediately, making Urahara cry out and buck, his erection coming swiftly back to life.

Kenpachi grabbed at it with his free hand, tugging and making Urahara's head lift up only to slam back down on the pavement.

"Stupid, don't knock yourself out," Kenpachi ordered, his hands leaving their respective pleasure spots as he leaned over Kisuke's body and pulled his head up, staring into the dazed eyes.

Kisuke's heart thumped again as Kenpachi seemed to be…what? Concerned for him?

"I'm okay," Urahara mumbled, wanting to get back to feeling good. The heat from the Jacuzzi was affecting his brain as well as the pleasure, "I want to, Kenpachi."

Kenpachi flinched at the sincerity in the candy man's voice. It was rare to hear, and it didn't sound like past partners who were in it for money or a good fuck.

Kisuke got tired of waiting, leaning up into Kenpachi and kissing him, arching his spine and wrapping his legs securely around the yakuza's waist, throwing Kenpachi off guard.

But when that pierced tongue flicked over his lips, he was done.

He attacked Urahara's mouth with a hunger he hadn't felt since he was a teenager, his hips instinctually pushing forward into the heat being offered to him, and that mouth…Jesus the blonde could kiss.

Thoroughly distracted, Kisuke did little more than moan when Kenpachi slipped into Urahara, swiveling his hips to get all the way in and comfortable, barely waiting before he started slamming.

The smooth stone underneath him did little to stop the discomfort, but Urahara grit his teeth and tried to enjoy what was being done to his body as Kenpachi's tongue decided to do a number on his chest, paying particular attention to his nipple studs.

Urahara pulled at Kenpachi's now product-free hair and yanked hard, making the yakuza growl, "Hnn, nah, my nipples-"

"Only masochists get these," Kenpachi said, licking over the swollen, sensitive nub, "Went straight to yer cock, didn't it?"

Urahara just moaned again as Kenpachi started a brutal pace, both hands on Urahara's tattooed hips.

Urahara could barely keep his eyes open: _fuck,_ it felt so good. Kenpachi rubbed and nicked at that impossible itch inside him, that deep itch that was fucking _torture_ and the burn made him feel like he was going to go insane.

Kenpachi's fingers started massaging into Urahara's hips, admiring the ink work there. On his left hip was an arrangement of Sakura blossoms, reminding Kenpachi of a spring festival. The flowers certainly suited his little blonde princess. His right hip, however, was a black and grey portrait of a young woman with her eyes closed with a soft smile holding a baby, the woman's wings tucked perfectly to the edge of Kisuke's hip. Tattoo work on hips, especially something this detailed, had to have been extremely painful. The portraiture was nearly extended around and onto his back.

Kenpachi felt a pang of jealousy: was this possibly a dead wife and his baby son? This Jinta?

Kenpachi grunted before picking up the pace, making Urahara scream. Kenpachi was suddenly very, _very_ aware of how hard Urahara's fingers were digging into his forearms.

"Hah-nah! Kenpachiiiiii!"

And that was all the warning Kenpachi got before Urahara came, arching his back and moaning, his white cream painting his wet chest and making Kenpachi groan.

It just wasn't fair how hot this man was. It just was _not_.

"You're mine," Kenpachi growled, biting into the side of Urahara's neck in a possessive show of dominance. He didn't care if this woman was alive or not, Kisuke was his, and that was that. Anything else was asking for trouble.

A couple more strokes and Kenpachi was seeing white light as well, groaning as he tried to keep himself inside the tight heat for as long as possible.

Urahara's head was lolling side to side, his arms falling from Kenpachi's now red and sore shoulders, his grey eyes totally glazed over in satiated bliss.

He needed to get this man in his bed now before he crashed out here, and no way was Kenpachi sleeping outside, no matter how much he'd paid for the landscaping.

"Come on, princess."

"Mm, I already did," he said groggily, closing his eyes and sighing, his legs starting to slip from Kenpachi's waste.

Well fuck.

Kenpachi picked the blonde up from the stone after he pulled his swimsuit back up (and got out of the Jacuzzi, that would have been too hard to maneuver) and got Kisuke to walk the rest of the way once he opened the back sliding door. Kisuke collapsed onto the bed on his belly, exposing a wet back and ass still dripping cum.

Kenpachi started stroking himself immediately, kicking out of his wet swimsuit and kneeling up over the prone body of his…

His…

Aw _fuck_.

"Get on your knees."

"Hn-uh?"

"Just get your ass up. Showing it to me like this. Fuck, this perfect ass…"

Urahara chuckled, too orgasm-happy to do anything else but be flattered and push his knees into the bed and lift his ass in the air, "Will this do? I can barely feel my arms."

Kenpachi chuckled and moved up behind his…his…

"Good enough, lover."

Urahara moaned as Kenpachi entered him again, moving slowly, slowly, slowly…

"Oh…my…ga-_awwwwwwwwd_…" Kisuke half-sobbed, half-wailed. Kenpachi was on his knees behind him, his hands pushing down on Kisuke's back, one on his lower back, one on his hip. The angle, the position, whatever this was…

"S-s-ooo…oh god, t-too deep, Kenpachi!"

"Mmhm."

Kisuke just continued to make nonsensical noises, the building speed on his prostate making his eyes roll back in his head, his body beginning to instinctively react, his muscles gripping Kenpachi harshly, making him hiss.

"Ah yeah, I didn't think you could get any tighter, princess."

The slap to his ass made Kisuke almost purr. Where the HELL had that come from?

Kenpachi's breath at his ear made him shiver hard, "Like I said, baby, _masochist_."

It was all too much. Sensation overload. The voice and lick to his ear made Urahara shudder, pushing his hips back and forth to stimulate his prostate and his cock, driving Kenpachi wild. Urahara just took it as he was pounded harder, his arms completely useless as his face buried into the sheets.

"I-I'm not a ma-ahhhhhhhhhh!-so-chist."

"Beg. 'Ta. Differ. Lover," Kenpachi said, each word punctuated with a deep, strong thrust that had Kisuke coming again.

Oh god, oh god it had hurt. He'd never had two orgasms so close together before, never.

"Fuck, Kenpachi, no more!"

"Then help me out, say what I wanna hear before you pass out and I take you all night."

Kenpachi wouldn't admit that his bad mood was completely gone, totally forgotten at this moment. Urahara was the best distraction he'd ever, _ever_ had. The huge problem still not solved of leaked account information to a man simply known as Aizen, a big shot from the north, could wait until morning.

Urahara was exhausted, his body too stunned to even know what was coming out of his mouth anymore, "Ah, hn, c-come inside me, Kenpachi. I want your cum. I want to swallow it up-"

Kenpachi jerked, totally caught off guard. Where the _hell_ had that come from? He came so hard he yelled out, a furious growl that had his hips pistoning far after his dick had been sated.

Holy fucking hell, this shopkeeper was fucking perfect.

He finally pulled out, watching the cum leak out slowly again, one of his fingers circling the puckering, swollen entrance, making Urahara shiver and shake.

"Pervert," he sighed.

"Masochist."

"Sadist."

"Cock slut."

Urahara just sighed heavily, too blissed out to keep fighting. He was so _tired_.

But Kenpachi had other ideas.

When Urahara felt a slick, hot tongue lapping at his hole, his whole body jolted and he twisted his fists into the sheets, screaming at the tops of his lungs.

"That good, huh?"

"Aw, fuck you," Urahara gusted out, his heart thundering a million miles a millisecond, "Oh god, don't do tha-nnnnnnah-stop!"

Kenpachi just chuckled and slapped both ass cheeks, satisfied he'd made Urahara so weak he couldn't even open his eyes anymore.

By the time Kenpachi got back from the shower, Urahara was snoring softly, making Kenpachi shake his head slightly.

Despite himself, he climbed into the large bed, making sure a sheet was over Urahara. Didn't want the kid getting sick in the cold room.

Kenpachi's body felt a slag, but his mind was still very awake. Looked like tonight he'd have to fight for sleep.


	4. Sinking Under The Surf

_I'm mean. Deal with it. –TPP_

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter 4: Sinking Under The Surf**

* * *

Kenpachi groaned deep in his chest, annoyed at the ringtone assigned to this particular person on his personal cell. It vibrated obnoxiously off the bedside table, playing a heavy metal chorus that made the man smile slightly despite himself as he grabbed for it and unlocked the screen with a heavy finger.

"Yeah?" he grunted, now sitting on the edge of the cold bed, the sheets no longer draped over his naked form. He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, the grayish light coming in through the large windows along the backside of his bedroom telling him it couldn't be more than seven in the morning.

"You forgot I'm with you this weekend, didn't you?" the voice asked, the tone simple, clipped.

Zaraki sighed again, scratching his side, "Don't get pouty."

"Considering the fact that I slept in the penthouse by myself last night, I'm thinking you're at the mansion with another new toy?"

"None of your business, is it?"

Zaraki grinned at the answering laugh: it was rich and young, younger than the blonde still asleep in the bed next to him.

Urahara was an extremely attractive man, but he couldn't compete with Shuhei's youthful fire.

"Well, I guess I'll just have your blue-haired slave keep me entertained for the day."

Kenpachi groaned, "Don't tell me 'yer fuckin' him too, Shu. Let it all be a bad dream."

"He's really cute," Shuhei chuckled, making Kenpachi roll his eyes at the teenager's antics, "And no, I haven't fucked him yet, but maybe I will, seeing as you don't want to spend any time with me. You know I get bored easily."

Kenpachi glanced at the small metallic clock on the bedside table: it was barely seven in the morning, "I have an appointment at ten and a lunch meeting with the Old Man at twelve. I'll see you sometime after one."

"I dunno. I'm pretty pissed right now. How you gonna make it up to me?"

Barely having gotten any sleep and just now beginning to think about the headache that awaited him with the Aizen situation still not solved, Kenpachi let all the gruffness leak out of him and into the phone, "Look, Shu, I'm in a sticky situation with a dick head from somewhere up North leaking account information, and so far, I know fuck-all about it to talk about with my boss today as I watch him try to eat a chef salad with dentures. I love you, but you're testing my patience right now."

"Damn. Why didn't you just call me and tell me you were fucked for this weekend? Could've left you alone until the next."

"No way. You're mine this weekend."

"Alright, don't forget I love you. Tell your candy man I said hi."

"Yeah, love you too."

Kenpachi groaned as Shuhei chuckled and hung up and dropped his phone back on the table before rolling completely out of the bed and heading for the shower. He'd have to have a talk with his outspoken subordinates.

Zaraki knew his subordinates had incredible loyalty, but to be leaking around gossip like old women was getting old. They were supposed to be tightlipped about everything: it was laughable how much like teenage girls some of them could be, wanting to know who was fucking who.

Zaraki turned on the shower and rinsed off quickly, trying not to think about the blonde in his bed. Fuck, just thinking about that body was getting him half hard in the spray. He ignored it and soaped his hair, trying not to think about it too much.

If he was going to get any alone time with Shuhei, he'd have to convince the Old Man that they had their fingers in the right cookie jars and were on their way to uncovering something about the account thief from the North, this Aizen dick. Zaraki had never heard of him, but he knew the type and it was only a matter of time before one of his computer-savvy lower-ring people got him some real information. He'd already put Byakuya in charge and it was beyond frustrating to see that even the extremely reliable and duty-devoted soft-spoken yakuza had yet to come up with anything worth a shit.

It wasn't like Kenpachi could use Gin or Grimm on something like this: this was techy geek work reserved for those walking virgin cesspools Uryu and the pink-haired freak he couldn't remember the name of. Something French. Kenpachi hated the French, or maybe he just hated the glasses-wearing pain in the ass so much he'd just blame the whole country he came from.

But they were the best at what Kenpachi couldn't grasp, so Byakuya was utilizing them. Of course muscle like Renji and Grimm would be called on when things were a little more settled, but for now, everything was up in the air as they tried to figure out what family he was directing or working under. They'd triangulated the ghost business, a virtual nightmare of building blocks that just lead to an even deeper labyrinth.

And it wasn't even like those particular accounts were anything _good_: just reserve money, like this Aizen guy was toying with them, stretching his legs for the real marathon to come.

And Kenpachi didn't like that. Nobody fucked with 11th Division money and got away with it.

Uryu and Eiffel Tower had managed to create more complicated encryptions, but that wasn't going to be enough to track and nail this fucker. And at the end of the day, he'd just be giving the orders, not delivering the actual blows. That's what Gin was for.

But it was still a headache, and Kenpachi could feel the tension in his shoulders even after he was finished with his shower and the hot water was turned off, the strong jets not even enough to soothe his muscles.

On the upside, he would see Shuhei this afternoon, so it worked out quite well that Urahara had asked for the day off.

Kenpachi didn't usually give breaks, but he needed one, and Shuhei was waiting for him.

Two birds with one stone.

Zaraki sure as hell wasn't a vain man, but he would never tell a living soul how much time he spent brushing his uncooperative black hair. Sometimes it could be a real pain in the ass, and other days, it was smoother than silk. Today it was a rat's nest, probably from all the pulling a certain shopkeeper had been doing in bed earlier.

Too frustrated to spend any more time putting in various gel products to get his hair into his usual spikes, he left it down and dried his body thoroughly, reminding himself to hit the punching bag later if Shuhei didn't manage to make him a little more less agitated.

* * *

Urahara listened to the quieting sounds in the bathroom, trying not to feel anything.

His chest hurt.

He'd been awake ever since Kenpachi had answered his damned cell, the loud music having wakened Urahara instantly but dismissing it when Kenpachi just sounded annoyed. Trying to go back to sleep, he couldn't help but listen to the man's gravelly voice as he talked to whoever was on the other end.

Some Shu, a Shu who was apparently very, very important if Kenpachi's tone was anything to go by. Maybe Urahara hadn't known him long, but he could tell Kenpachi cared, not to mention they'd exchanged the three dreaded words.

His chest had hurt ever since.

He didn't like it.

He continued to keep his eyes closed, thinking about the day ahead. He had to get home to his son, pick up a cake on the way, try to do something special. Jinta got out of school around three, so he had until then to maybe put up some cheap decorations and go shopping for some ingredients to make a celebratory hot pot.

And a present, dammit. He knew they couldn't afford to get him that new gaming system he'd been talking about for months, but he'd figure something out.

Urahara buried his head deeper into his pillow, willing the ache in his chest to go away.

He couldn't control how many lovers Kenpachi had. Hell, why was Urahara even surprised? He could have twenty, all of them working off a similar debt.

It was then that Urahara felt like a true prostitute. He was sticky, his ass throbbed, his muscles were aching and his throat felt raw from screaming.

_IT'S BUSINESS. This is a business, Urahara, nothing more._

Kisuke felt his traitorous heart whisper something different.

* * *

After shaving and some deodorant and incense cologne Shuhei had bought him, Kenpachi went back into the bedroom and opened his walk-in closet, selecting a charcoal grey suit with a white collared undershirt and silk cream tie. He dressed, donned a pair of dark leather shoes, grabbed his cell and headed for the kitchen, Urahara stirring slightly as he disappeared.

Kenpachi dialed out as he simultaneously rummaged in the fridge for something quick to eat: he wanted to get downtown to his office before the meeting and finish up a mountain of paperwork he'd left unattended in favor of having a night to work off his frustration with Urahara. He'd known he'd have to pay for it, but it had been worth it. The contracts for the new property weren't due for a few more days, so he wasn't worried.

"Hai, buchou?"

"Pick me up in twenty."

"A'course."

Kenpachi hung up on Gin, loving him for his punctuality and no-questions attitude. It was nice: Kenpachi could always depend on him to be a soldier first, a friend second. It wasn't often that he found himself friendly with his subordinates, but Gin and Grimm, if he was being honest with himself, were his favorites. Kuchiki was smart but a tight ass who couldn't unwind with a bottle of sake and have a few laughs like the silver-haired fox and the blue loud mouth. Ikkaku was getting there with his 'I'll never give up or admit defeat' attitude, but he was still a newbie, fresh in the game. He was learning, though, which Kenpachi appreciated. He was making a lot less mistakes (one of which was currently responsible for the tight, erotic shop keeper still sleeping in his bedroom).

And if Kenpachi was being totally, one hundred percent honest, he knew perfectly well that both boys looked to him as a true older brother figure, not just an 'older brother' in the yakuza sense. The Old Man had lectured Kenpachi for hours when he'd scooped the crazy blue-haired orphan off the streets years ago, impressed by his fighting ability and 'I will be king' attitude. Kenpachi wished the little bastard was his blood, 'cuz he was proud as hell of the little fucker. They were too much alike for his tastes sometimes.

And Gin had been a welcome surprise, the first of any of his subordinates to make him laugh, despite how dangerous his skill set was. They were the only subordinates Kenpachi allowed access to his homes uninvited, although the Old Man thought that kind of 'weakness' would be his downfall someday.

_"How you manage to make men willing to die for you, I will never know, Zaraki. _

_I have no doubt of your strength, but you can be foolish. _

_One day, you will lend trust and loyalty to the wrong person, and then you will fall."_

The old fuck sure could be condescending sometimes. Zaraki carried the words of warning with him out of habit: he tended to remember obnoxious words of wisdom over most other things, if only to scoff at them later while pouring a scotch.

He'd gotten to the top with his bare hands: more than the Old Man could say. He'd inherited the position. Kenpachi had been nobody, less than nobody from a shit world and a shit family. He'd been born in muck.

He thought briefly of the lotus blossoms adorning his hands, deep in his skin, a constant reminder of what could grow from shit and muck: strong roots, overwhelmingly bright blossoms, a resilient plant.

Kenpachi grabbed the toast he'd put in the toaster and ate it plain, chugging some orange juice straight from the container, careful not to spill any on his suit. After so many years of wearing them, they didn't bother him, but he'd kill to be able to wear a pair of sweats and a wife beater once in a while.

"Kenpachi, may I leave?"

Kenpachi turned to regard a half-naked Urahara, a bed sheet around his hips.

Oh yeah. His clothes were still outside by the Jacuzzi.

"Not like that, I hope," Kenpachi asked, finishing off his toast and cocking a hip against the kitchen island, "Got somewhere to be?"

"Can I spend the day with my son or not?"

Kenpachi narrowed his eyes slightly at the tone: what was wrong with him?

"Yeah. I got business to deal with. Get dressed: my car will be here in fifteen. Unless you wanna sleep –"

"No thank you."

Kenpachi held in a hiss as Urahara bowed slightly and made his way to the sliding doors and let himself out onto the patio to retrieve his clothing.

Whatever the hell act this was, he didn't like it at all.

When Urahara returned, he was dressed, his face blank as he asked Kenpachi politely for something to drink.

"Your arms broken? Get it yourself."

Kenpachi watched the mechanical way in which Kisuke retrieved a carton of juice from the fridge and rooted around the various cupboards to find a glass, saying nothing as he sipped it and waited with Kenpachi in the silence.

"So you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass? 'Cuz last time I checked, my dick was the last thing in there."

Urahara set his glass down, giving Kenpachi a half-smile, his bangs draping down the center of his forehead, "I'm fine. Just a little sore."

"You can stay, I ain't kickin' you out. I'll give you Grimm's number and when you wanna leave, he'll drop you off."

"Thank you, but no. I'd rather shower at home, and I have a lot to get done before my son gets home from school. I want to surprise him."

Kenpachi listened to the tone: it was much, much more polite than the almost biting tone from earlier, like he was slowly getting himself more and more under control.

_To hell with this shit. _

He reached down and unzipped his expensive suit pants, tugging his dick free from the silk boxers, "We got ten minutes. Suck me."

Urahara picked up his glass, finished the last bit of juice, and set the cup back down before coming around the island and getting on his knees.

"Tch," Kenpachi quickly tucked himself away before Urahara could touch him, his head cocking up to study Kenpachi's face.

His guts squirmed around: he didn't like the look on Urahara's face at all. His eyes were wrong.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Urahara just blinked, "Well, I was going to suck you off in your beautiful kitchen, but I guess you changed your mind."

Kenpachi grit his teeth, grabbing Urahara's hair and tugging him up as he winced at the pain, "Mind games don't work on me, princess."

"You're hurting me."

The tone was even, polite. Kenpachi tugged him fully upright before slamming him against the kitchen island, knocking the breath from him, his fingers curled in the front of Urahara's shirt.

"I don't fuck robots, so either change your tampon or tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

Urahara's eyes narrowed slightly, "Don't act like you care. You bought me: this is just good business."

Kenpachi was suddenly furious, "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are 'ta talk to me like that?"

Urahara's eyes went flat again, "I'm a desperate man who'll do anything for his son. You already know that. I won't let you sell my store, and I sure as hell won't let you take my son, so if I have to suck you off, let you fuck me, so be it. You didn't buy me to talk to me, did you? That'll cost extra."

Kenpachi lost it. He slapped Urahara, the sound deafening in the quiet space. He then punched Urahara, pushing him to the tile, covering his squirming body with his own.

"Watch. Your. Fuckin'. Mouth," Kenpachi annunciated, practically seeing red as he sat on Urahara's chest and pulled his piece he'd stashed in the back of his waistband. Practiced fingers unlocked the safety, pressing the barrel underneath Urahara's chin, "Before I blow your brains out. Maybe I'll even fuck you bloody before leavin' your body for your bouncin' baby boy 'ta find on his special day."

Urahara's whole body jolted like Kenpachi had already shot him, his eyes closing before opening slowly.

"I'm sorry. I will never disrespect you again."

"Fuck," Kenpachi said, clipping the safety before tucking the Sig back again and assaulting the blonde's mouth. Urahara was still shaking slightly, making Kenpachi's insides squirm again.

Dammit. How many years had it been his job to create fear? He didn't like the shopkeeper like this.

He leaned back again, trying to ignore the tears gathering in Urahara's eyes. He leaned forward again, yanking on Urahara's hair, "Don't. Fucking. Cry. I hate crying."

"I'm sorry."

Kenpachi got up, thankful that the front door was slammed open by his silver-haired subordinate who wandered in to see Urahara getting up from the floor, the side of his face already swelling, wiping tears from his face as Kenpachi stood rigid, hands in his suit pockets, not too far away.

"Mah, buchou, wha's goin' on?"

"Take him wherever he wants to go. I'll take the car in the garage," Kenpachi said, walking to a side cabinet and grabbing a set of keys out of the knife drawer before disappearing through the living room. The door slammed, making Urahara and Gin both flinch.

"Mah, whad'ya do, sensei?" Gin murmured, helping his old professor off the floor and looking at his face with a bit of concern.

Gin felt like he'd be sick when Urahara chuckled and shook his head, a small smile on his lips, "I did something really, really stupid."

Gin went to the freezer, removing a bag of pees and bringing it back to Urahara who just shook his hands as if to refuse.

"And wha' was tha', exactly?"

Urahara wiped his eyes and focused on his son. He wanted to get going, and Gin was going to get him out of this hellhole and back to the only thing that made his life worth living.

"I got jealous."

* * *

Kenpachi exited the elevator, heading directly for the penthouse, loosening his tie on the way. His day was just bloody fucking peachy so far, and he would commit seppuku if he had had to sit with the Old Man one more fucking minute. He'd escaped as quickly as possible, calling Kuchiki and telling him he didn't want to see his face until he had something solid on Aizen, and then driven quite illegally back to the penthouse, hoping Shuhei would be what he needed to calm the fuck down.

When he stepped inside, he knew his killing aura was potent because his blue-haired subordinate who had been relaxing on the couch next to a video-gaming Shuhei took one look at him and hopped up, grabbing his suit jacket and pack of cigarettes.

He simply saluted his buchou with two fingers to the temple before closing the door to the penthouse behind him. Kenpachi didn't know if he was pissed he hadn't gotten to throw a tantrum or thankful that Grimmjow had been smart enough to get the hell out while he had the chance.

Shuhei continued the level, shooting sounds and cries leaving the screen as Zaraki headed straight for the bar and his favorite bottle.

He downed two crystal brandy cups before Shuhei paused the game and stared at him, his arms over the back of the couch, "So what's got your panties all in a bunch?"

Zaraki downed another glass before looking at the extremely attractive eighteen year old, noticing his spiky black hair was in need of a cut.

"You need a haircut: I sure as hell give 'ya enough money per week. Walk your ass to a barber shop."

Shuhei grinned slowly, Kenpachi deflating: this kid always saw through his bad moods.

"How 'bout you take a seat, have another drink, and I order some pizza and we ignore that you are emotionally retarded?"

Kenpachi sighed, setting his drink down only long enough to removed his suit jacket and unbutton his shirt and throw his tie, "I don't want pizza."

Shuhei got up from the couch, approaching the intimidating man, slipping his arms around him in a hug. Kenpachi didn't want to give in right now: he was still pissed from this morning, something that made his gut roll all wrong. He'd slapped and punched plenty of people before. Fuck, even shooting someone didn't make the giant flinch, so why did he feel so fucking _guilty_ over what he'd done to Urahara?

Finally Kenpachi rested his chin on top of Shuhei's spiky head, absorbing the affection and trying to forget about the shopkeeper.

* * *

"Dad, you didn't have to do all this."

"Of course I did! You only turn sixteen once! Eat up, eat up!" Urahara said, clapping his hands together as Jinta began to dig into the delicious hot pot Starrk had helped him make. A small coconut-flavored cake was waiting on the counter for later. Starrk sat to the left, a party hat tilted sideways on his brown locks as he ate slowly. Jinta had refused to wear a birthday tiara Urahara had found at the dollar store, so he himself was wearing it (no sense in letting it go to waste).

After dinner and big thick slices of cake, Urahara presented a small tissue-wrapped box to Jinta, "Happy birthday, Jinta."

Jinta opened it, smiling, "Thanks, dad."

Urahara nodded, giving his son a hug as he tried not to think about the silver locket that used to belong to his sister. He'd told Jinta the real story a few years ago, unable to keep lying to the kid or have him wonder what really happened to his mother. He'd been so young at the time, and now Kisuke felt strong enough to part with the piece of jewelry she had been wearing when she died. Kisuke had kept it safe all this time, not knowing if he could ever part with it, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else to give Jinta for a present. It was the most sentimental, beautiful thing he could think of.

As soon as Jinta slipped it on and tucked it under his shirt, the front door was being banged against.

"They wanna go to the arcade for a while," Jinta said, giving his dad another hug, "But maybe we can watch a movie later?"

"Sure! Go be youthful, my son," Urahara encouraged, watching Jinta leave the apartment with a small herd of friends from school. It was nice to see Jinta was so popular.

He started clearing up the dishes, Starrk leaning against the sink as it filled with water.

"So we going to talk about the bruise on your face or do I get to wait for that story too?"

Urahara sighed: he'd told Jinta he'd hit the side of the counter at work and Jinta had been quick to write it off because he was usually a klutz, but of course Starrk would know better.

So Urahara decided to bite the bullet.

"I'm sleeping with a loan shark to clear the debts to the shop. I mouthed off. I shouldn't have. The end."

Starrk stared at him, and the silence spoke more than yelling or screaming.

He finally sighed, "Ki, you should have told me. I have some money saved up…"

"This is my battle, Starrk. Please stay out of it."

"Not when Jinta's involved. They'll take him, Kisuke. You know that."

"I have his word. I'll just keep spreading my legs and nobody gets hurt. Simple."

Starrk approached him, lifting his hand to slide it along the side of his jaw, careful of the purpling mark, his eyes sad, "No, Ki: you're the one who gets hurt."

"That's collateral damage I'm willing to live with," Urahara replied, moving his face away from Starrk's gentle hand, "Seriously, Starrk, I have this under control."

Starrk shook his head and picked up some dishes, cleaning them in silence. Urahara gathered the last of the plates and dried what Starrk finished, wanting more than anything to escape the tension in the cramped living space.

When they finished and Kisuke was wiping the table down, there was another knock at the door.

Starrk was passed out on the couch already, so Kisuke answered it, surprised beyond belief to see Grimmjow standing there, grinning with a bulky, crappily-wrapped box.

"Special delivery for the birthday boy," he said, holding it out for Urahara to take.

"This is a joke, right?" Urahara almost growled, not liking Grimmjow's smile.

"If it makes you feel better, he told me I had no limit on the credit card. 'Just pick out something you'd want' he said. Your kid's gonna flip, I promise," he said, trying to make Urahara take it.

"I don't want it," Urahara hissed, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

Grimmjow raised a blue eyebrow, "Well 'ya might wanna peak first before you say that. Seriously, Candy, this is –"

"I have nothing against you, Grimmjow, and I'm sure under different circumstances, we could be quite good friends, but all I want right now is for yakuza to stay away from my son and my home. Do you understand?"

Grimmjow sighed, setting the package down on the ground at his feet, hands in his pockets, "Look, Candy, I know a thing or two 'bout buchou, and I think I like 'ya enough 'ta tell you that he doesn't give his fuck toys presents. Ever."

"He knows my son is off limits. I don't appreciate him trying to be funny, especially after this morning."

Grimmjow looked unfazed, "Are ya having a hissy fit 'cuz he's spending time with Shu? Is that what this is about?"

Urahara felt instant anger in his gut at the mention of the lover's name, "No, Grimmjow. This is about Kenpachi's word as a man to stay away from my son, and this, giving him an extravagant gift, is not staying away. I won't accept it. Just return it or keep it for yourself."

Grimmjow scratched at the back of his neck, sighing, "You're a pain in the ass, Candy. I don't think you're pickin' up what I'm layin' down here."

"This is a business arrangement. He bought me; that's how this is supposed to work. No gifts, no presents, no home deliveries from yakuza lap dogs-"

"Careful, Candy. I take offence 'ta that," Grimmjow growled, narrowing his bright summer blue eyes, "I've earned my marks, I'm only doing him a favor as family, 'cuz Gin's busy and you don't know anybody else, but you better be careful how you talk to me, 'cuz your face already looks like its in pain."

"Compliments of your buchou."

Grimmjow shook his head, "If buchou had meant 'ta hurt you, you'd probably be dead."

Urahara stiffened at that and didn't say a word as Grimmjow bent down and picked up the gift again, depositing it into Urahara's hands, "Just give it 'ta the kid. He deserves something nice: suck up that stupid pride and work your fuckin' problems out with buchou. I've never seen him that pissed with his son in the room."

Urahara watched Grimmjow start to walk down the hallway, his brows drawn together, "Son?"

Grimmjow stopped and looked at him as he hit the button for the elevator, "Yeah, his son Shuhei. He's in town for the weekend. Even buchou's cunt of an ex-wife couldn't win that custody battle."

Urahara's face must have betrayed some kind of surprise because Grimmjow started laughing as he backed into the now-open elevator, "Oh shit! Ahahaha! This is better than tv!"

Urahara didn't have enough time to be annoyed because the doors closed and Urahara lugged the package inside, setting it on the table, taking a peak under the wrapping, his eyes going wide.

The brand new video gaming system Jinta had wanted. Either Grimmjow was a video game nerd or had wired the apartment. Urahara hoped it was the first option.

But the words finally sunk in, the tightness in his chest disappearing.

A son, not a lover.

Urahara went to take another shower to clear his head, his bruised face begging for more advil.

* * *

"Wow, dad. You're whipped."

"Shut up, Shu."

"I think it's cute," Shuhei said, cursing when his father managed to kill his ninja on the flat screen tv, "dammit. For an old man who never has time to even watch tv, how are you so good at kicking my ass?"

"I'm your dad. It's part of the description," he said, reaching over and ruffling his only son's hair until his hand was smacked away.

"So when do I get to meet the love of your life?" Shuhei teased.

"Don't push it. I'll send you back to your mom's."

Shuhei rolled his eyes, "We both know that's an empty threat, Kenny."

Kenpachi growled, "You're lucky you're my only child."

"Is he cute? 100,000 yen says he's blonde."

Kenpachi knew better than to bet against his son: he liked to gamble way too much and was just about as good with investing money as Kenpachi was, "Stupid bet."

"You've never been this pissed off over a toy. You sure you're not dating him?"

"Shu, I'm gonna kick your ass."

Why did he tell his son _anything?_ Christ, it was like he was a little annoying sorcerer. Kenpachi chalked it up to his ex-wife's bloodline: that kind of devilry sure as hell hadn't come from him.

"You suck at emotions. You and mom were only happy when you were making each other miserable. You're just scared 'cuz this mystery man makes you happy without having to make him miserable."

Kenpachi stared at his son, forgetting the game, which led to Shuhei destroying his ninja and making him woop in victory at his dad's obvious lack of attention.

Shit. No _way_ that was true.

Shuhei rolled his eyes, "Don't look at me like that. Who knows you better than me besides your sexy little lackeys? You know I'm right."

"It's for the debt. That's the only reason he's involved with me."

"Then clear the debt and start over," Shuhei said with a shrug, "from what you told me, that shop is chump change. You've never coerced a debt payer before, idiot! The Zaraki Kenpachi I know would've took everything away from him before he could blink. Face it: you're totally smitten. If it makes you feel any better, I'd be willing to throw away 7 mil for love."

_**LOVE?**_

"No more talking," Kenpachi grumbled, starting up a new level. Shuhei just laughed.

So much for the big, bad, scary yakuza.


	5. Sandcastles

_I love writing Kenpachi. He's such a kid sometimes. -TPP_

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter Five: Sandcastles**

* * *

"So how come you won't sleep with me?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes as he stared up at the living room ceiling of the penthouse, a green lollipop dangling from his lips. He'd been trying to cut back on the cigs lately: he hated the smell of smoke, but it'd become a habit for dealing with stress. Nothing like a nicotine fix, so he'd been trying to kick the nasty habit with a sugar fix via lollipops or a caffeine fix at his new favorite coffee place, Shunsui's. The owner was a total spazz, which always gave Grimm a laugh, so he liked going there to bug the old man once in a while, especially when he was craving his coffee. A Grimmjow without coffee guaranteed a few bodies in coffins before the end of a workday.

"Am I not your type? Or is it 'cuz you're scared shitless of my old man?" Shuhei said with a snarky grin on the opposite side of the couch as he slinked closer, trying to gain Grimmjow's undivided attention, his hand running down Grimmjow's loose grey tie, "So what is it?"

Grimmjow cracked the outer shell of the lollipop with his teeth, rolling it around on his tongue before cocking his head to the side to look at Shuhei, "I'd never disrespect buchou like that, kid."

"Kid?" Shuhei snorted, now twirling the tie around his finger, "You're what? Two years older than me? Maybe three?"

Grimmjow smirked around the lollipop stick, "You'd like that, wouldn't'cha? What is it with horny brats and older men?"

"What is it with greenhorns and egos?" Shuhei shot back, eyebrow raised, "I know you have an ego bigger than my dad's mansion, but seriously, you should tone it down: you're still young in this life and you're not a god."

Grimmjow's smirk just grew, making Shuhei's face turn pink, "That you know of. Trust me, baby, if I believed in it, I'd rock your world so hard you'd need brain surgery afterward."

"Not fair," Shuhei pouted, making Grimmjow laugh.

"Look, maybe this is a shit excuse, but I think of buchou like I think a father would be like, so that makes me your older brother. I'd protect you with my life, regardless of my status in the family. Even if I wasn't yakuza, I'd take a bullet for you or your dad any day of the week, so call me soft, I don't care."

Shuhei smirked himself, making Grimmjow think the kid was thinking something a little too lewd, "Soft? I'd prefer you hard…"

"Sorry, slick. I'm a masochist for older guys I don't think I have a chance with. They're much more fun 'ta corrupt," Grimmjow cooed, removing Shuhei's hand from his tie before the kid's hands got any more feel-y on his chest.

"Ugh, how annoying," Shuhei groaned, going back to his side of the couch and picking up the remote to flip through the channels like nothing had just happened. Grimmjow couldn't help but smile: he had to give the kid credit for being so fucking blunt and straightforward. Definitely something inherited from Kenpachi.

And the kid was _hot_: there was _no_ getting around that. Downright sinful, in fact. Grimmjow just _had_ to keep his hands to himself.

And he hadn't been lying. He really did have a thing for older guys. His ex had been an obnoxious orange-headed doctor, but he was off in the day world working his cute ass off to become a productive member of society (if Grimm remembered correctly, the youngest Chief of Medicine in the history of Tokyo). Grimmjow had cut him loose the second he realized he'd never be able to make the older man truly happy, especially since he had so many plans for his life, dreams and ambitions.

Grimmjow couldn't guarantee he'd be alive in a month much less in ten years with a house and a dog doing family barbeques in the backyard with the adopted kids or whatever else Ichigo had envisioned for them. Thankfully, it'd been fun, and yeah, he'd had feelings for the 8-years-older male and vise versa, but they'd ended on decent terms. Ichigo emailed him once in a while from Tokyo and they managed to stay pretty decent friends, but the spark was definitely gone now that mileage and life choices stood between them.

That was the last and only 'real' relationship Grimmjow had experienced, and thanks to that experience, he wasn't sleeping around with anything that moved like his teenage years. He'd just celebrated his 23rd birthday, and call him a nerd but he was tired of meaningless sex. He wanted a connection with somebody, anybody, that wasn't in the life he'd chosen for himself.

So he'd admit it. He was rusty. It'd been almost a year since his split with Ichigo and he'd been relying on his hand to choke his huge gopher for the past eleven months because nobody had caught his eye yet.

Well, accept for a brown-haired, sleepy-eyed god.

And Grimmjow was freaking out, actually, considering the second he'd met Urahara's lackey in the flesh, he'd nearly had a coronary. It'd been ages since he'd felt like he'd been kicked in the gut upon meeting someone. Hell, Ichigo had had him nearly hyperventilating (maybe it had been because of the stitches in his forehead? He still had the scar through his right eyebrow to prove it, but whatever, back to the suntanned god). He'd gone to Urahara's shop to check in on the candy man and his foul mood (apparently buchou hadn't called him all weekend, stupid fuck) and Grimmjow had wanted to get some bags of lollipops (he ended up buying packs of the damnable sweet and sour things) and the sleepy bastard had been the first thing Grimmjow had seen, opening smoky grey-blue eyes and lifting his head from the counter at the sound of the tinkling bell. Grimmjow had headed down the closest candy aisle that had looked promising, perusing the bags but not really reading them, the lazy worker's head resting on a hand at the counter.

"Those are sugar free. The good ones are in the next aisle."

Grimmjow had just kept staring with his head cocked, the apparently-sugar free lollipop packages in his hands, trying to figure out how to be normal around the super hot hippie. He was used to dealing with cranky old dudes and men twice his age covered in scars and always wearing sunglasses and…well, being cranky some more. And violent. Even Gin was about seven years older than him.

So, needless to say, talking to a thirty-something man that was _gorgeous_ even when he looked like he was going to drop from narcolepsy, a harmless pedestrian, was something Grimmjow had very little practice in.

Maybe if he'd been wearing something a little more sinister (he hated suits and only wore them when he knew he'd get shit on by buchou) so black slacks and a black button down was his usual go-to ensemble.

"Eh, thanks," he finally said with a shrug before whistling into the next aisle to scoop up some REAL candy.

"You like lollipops so much, you might wanna try the new sour zingers we just imported. Like crack on a stick, man," the long-haired worker continued in a bored tone before running a hand through brown hair that brushed past his shoulders and going around the counter to fix one of the displays.

Grimmjow _loved_ longer hair on his men. Mm. He himself had used to run around with hair nearly to his ass before cutting it in favor of looking more professional a few years back (not to mention when fighting there were no rules and it tended to get in his fucking way) but shit did he love to tug on it during sex.

Grimmjow ended up grabbing half the fucking aisle just trying to get his mind out of a tangle at the thought of the hippie's ass. DAMMIT it wasn't fair for him to look that good in washed-out grey jeans! Not to mention the plain green and white-striped apron the man had to wear for the sake of the store.

_Dammit, Candy:_ _If I'd known your coworker was this sexy, I'd have checked up on this place from the beginning._

Grimmjow dumped his purchases onto the counter, reading the man's nametag.

Starrk rang up the young blue-haired gangster (he wasn't blind, for Christ's sake: the blue-haired Adonis had obvious gang and yakuza marks all over his arms and, most likely, his chest.)

_Yummmmmm._

"You workin' all by yourself?"

"Yeah," Starrk said, making blunt eye contact. He'd never seen the blue-haired young yakuza before and, dammit, would he stop staring at him like that and talking in that…fuck, _perfect_ voice?

_This voice..._

Starrk remembered Urahara answering the door the night of Jinta's birthday, although he hadn't bothered to open his eyes and peak through the hallway: he'd simply listened.

_So this blue haired brat's associated with the loan shark…_

"So you run this place with one person on duty? A crazy killer could come in here and rob you or something," Grimmjow said with a smirk and his eyes doing that quarter-lidded thing that made girls pass out, hands in his pockets, casual casual casual.

_Oh yeah, you're a sassy sexual deviant, Grimmjow._ _Reel it in, ass hole! Reel it the fuck in!_

Starrk raised an eyebrow at the weird yakuza, wondering how stable he was and if he was, indeed, about to get robbed, "You trying to say I can't handle myself, kid?"

Starrk thought the kid would pitch a fit: according to all those gang marks, he really shouldn't be shooting his mouth around, but something had tugged at him internally to mess with him. Maybe out of fear for Kiki, maybe a bit of bitterness out of not being able to help his best friend and godson. It could have been a lot of things, because last time Starrk took stock of his own life, he sure as hell didn't _flirt_ with boys a decade younger than himself.

But the blue-haired punk's smile just grew wider, "Wouldn't dream of it, hippie. If there's one thing my scars have taught me, it's to never underestimate a man."

"Wise words for one so young," Starrk goaded, finished bagging the final selection of sweets: this kid either had a serious issue with sugar or was planning on opening his own candy shop, the total a staggering amount, more than they usually sold in a week or two.

"Aw, I thought we weren't gonna judge each other," Grimmjow said with a sigh, digging in his wallet and slapping down a few large yen bills on the counter before swinging the bags over his shoulder, "That's mean, Starrk. And here I wanted to invite you out for a beer when you got off. Don't worry: wouldn't take you to some shady yakuza sake bar 'ta have my boss ghost you or anything."

Starrk couldn't help but smirk at the kid's jibes: his voice was playful and sultry at the same time, like he knew he had complete control of the situation. Little brat.

"You make an adorable yakuza, kid."

Grimmjow cocked his head to the side, studying Starrk, "Ya know, I've killed people for less than that, but you're so damn hot I think my brain's ignoring the instinct."

Starrk grinned, "I'm flattered. Truly. Mr…?"

"Call me Grimmjow," Grimmjow said with a sadistic grin, "Grimm is reserved for later. You'll be screaming it in my bed."

"Cheeky brat."

"Closet masochist."

"Punk."

Grimmjow grinned wide, "I'll take 'intimacy issues' as my final answer."

Starrk crossed his arms over his chest, subconsciously defensive. Grimmjow didn't miss it. If there was one thing he'd learned to not ignore since childhood, it was body language. He'd been good at reading people from an extremely early age and obviously wasn't afraid to test his theories.

Starrk raised a dark brow, "You're extremely forward. Is that how kids get dates these days?"

Grimmjow shrugged, "You tell me. Is it working?"

"Depends. You buying?"

"Never paid for sex before, but if it makes you feel better about yourself, Charlotte, I'll buy you a few fruity drinks and let you flirt with the other bar patrons before taking you home and smacking that fine ass until you can't look at another man without thinking about my talented hands."

Starrk hadn't been able to stop smiling since the kid started: it was so…ugh, disgustingly endearing how confident he was.

And it didn't matter if you were male or female: confidence was sexy as hell.

"I don't put out on the first date."

"Then I guess it's a good thing this isn't a date," Grimmjow retorted, pulling out a business card with his free hand and sliding it across the countertop:

**Jaegerjaques Grimmjow, Departmental Director**

**Zaraki Debt Services, Inc.**

**XXX-XXX-XXXX, extension 6**

"Just kidding. I'm a gentleman, Starrk. At least until the third date."

Starrk watched the blue-haired wonder go before leaning back on the barstool behind the counter and reading over the card again.

_Zaraki Debt Services, huh?_

* * *

A new week had begun and Kenpachi threw himself into his work like a man who'd been stranded on an island for years and finally getting chance to jump ship back into civilization.

Endless meetings, paperwork to his eyeballs. He didn't care. Grimmjow kept sliding him concerned looks when he thought Kenpachi wasn't paying attention. Even Gin was starting to get on his nerves by the time Friday rolled around again.

Had he really gone a whole week without calling or touching the blonde candy man?

Kenpachi sighed and lit a Turkish cigarette, tugging at his tie as he approached his penthouse's bar. He'd admit he'd been drinking more, just to take his moodiness away, but shit, he knew he was getting up there in age and couldn't handle hangovers like his glory days.

Two glasses of bourbon later, the front door opened.

Kenpachi had his Sig drawn and pointing at the intruder, a practiced motion from years of being on one's toes.

He wasn't an old man yet: he still had scary reflexes.

"Heard you were being moody. Thought I'd come see it for myself."

"Fuck off, Ulquiorra."

Kenpachi put his piece down on the bar and lit another cigarette, blowing smoke out of his nostrils and glaring at his unwelcome intruder.

"No need for rudeness, Kenpachi."

The thirty four year old man was as expressionless as ever, his green eyes almost doll-like. He'd gained some color from his various travels: the Old Man had him deal with most of their merchandise in Europe and other parts of Asia. He was a creepy fuck but smart, fluent in half a dozen languages and an excellent businessman. Even now he was wearing an impeccable black suit with a silk tie.

He took a seat on the couch, staring at Kenpachi, "So what seems to be the problem?"

"I didn't ask you to come here."

"So the rumor's true: you really have found someone."

Kenpachi ground his teeth together, "Did Grimm call you? Or was it Gin?"

Ulquiorra's lips turned up slightly, "Does it matter?"

"Yah, it does. 'Cuz I'm gonna kill one of them."

Ulquiorra shook his head, clicking his tongue, "It's been a while. A year, I believe."

"Something like that."

"Well I find myself in this city for an unfortunate two days. I was hoping you were in the mood for some earth-shattering sex, but it seems you've been in a bad mood for a while now over a very delectable looking shopkeeper."

Kenpachi rolled his eyes and took the opposite couch, a new bourbon in hand as he eyed his on-and-off again business sex buddy, "What about your snotty little traveling secretary? Doesn't he offer you plenty of ass?"

Ulquiorra raised one ink black eyebrow, "Yes, plenty, but Uryu doesn't return the favor."

Kenpachi sighed and chugged the last of his bourbon, "So what, you want me to pound your ass enough for you to last another year or two?"

Ulquiorra shrugged, "It was on the agenda, but this situation seems kind of…tedious…to be dealing with."

"What'cha trying to say?"

"Kenpachi, we've known each other a long time," Ulquiorra began, resting his head on a slim and manicured hand, his legs crossed in front of him. The kid was fluid as water, "You're selective of your partners. To be honest, it was one of the reasons I first began sleeping with you: even for yakuza, you have a certain tenderness, gentleness, to you. You don't just take partners for a night: you take lovers. You're a good lover, Kenpachi. It's why I always came back."

Kenpachi wanted to growl and roll his eyes again and huff and whine, but he decided to light another cigarette and throw his head back on the couch, blowing smoke up at the ceiling, "Well, that's fuckin' cute."

Ulquiorra chuckled, "You even took a wife out of obligation, but anyone with eyes could see that you didn't love her. Even so, you took care of her. Had a child with her. From what I've heard, he's becoming quite an aggressive and entertaining young man."

"You fuckin' touch him I'll break your neck."

Ulquiorra chuckled again, "You're fiercely protective. It's endearing: it's what draws people to you. It's why you have so many subordinates willing to take a bullet for you like it was an errand to pick up dry cleaning."

"Is this supposed to be a pep talk or is there something I'm missing?"

"You're also a stubborn fool. You're protective, yes, but also fiercely possessive. And I have to admit, Kenpachi, if I did indeed have true romantic feelings for you, I would be jealous of the way your relationship has been developing with this candy man, regardless of the short amount of time. As far as I know, you've never hit a lover."

"Don't put me on a pedestal. I hate that shit," Kenpachi barked, his gut squirming at the look on Urahara's face after the beat down. Fuck.

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything coming from me, but I do wish you happiness, Kenpachi. Despite everything you've been taught, everything you've seen, you do deserve it. You're a good man first, a business man second."

"You done yet? I'm tired and wanna go to bed."

Ulquiorra stood and adjusted his suit, tugging the edges into crisp lines once again, "Then I shall take my leave. Have a good evening."

"Cuatro."

Ulquiorra turned slightly at his ancient nickname, "Yes?"

"You're still an unlikeable asshole."

Ulquiorra smirked, his eyes hooded, "And you're still a petulant child. Make amends with the blonde, you giant oaf."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Kenpachi alone.

An hour later, he growled as he picked up his phone and dialed.

It rang seven times, each ring making Kenpachi a little more irritated.

It clicked.

_**"Hello~! You've reached Urahara Kisuke's personal line! I can't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Or not. It depends, really. Have a nice day~!"**_

Kenpachi hung up and tried again. Voicemail.

Kenpachi threw his phone across the room, listening to it crack against the wall and break into two separate pieces as it hit the ground.

_Fuck this._

* * *

Urahara stepped out of his bathroom, running a towel through his damp hair. He'd soaked so long in the tub his whole body felt like butter.

It was the first night he'd had the apartment to himself in a while: Jinta was at his best friend's house for the night and Starrk had said not to wait up for him, that he had a hot date. Between work and looking for other jobs, he was totally fried this week. Shunsui had agreed to take him on four nights a week while one of his pregnant girls was on maternity leave. It would bring a little more cash and keep his rent stable while he tried to work out the tangled mess that was his shop.

He'd cleaned out and re-mapped the inventory after going over a year's worth of sales reports. He'd cancelled nearly sixty percent of his chocolate shipments, as the hard candies sold better anyway. The international chocolate had been completely taken out except for one brand from America that the kids kept coming back for. Urahara had been amazed to see how much money he'd be saving a month just by cutting out the cost of international shipping.

He was still drowning in debt, but for the first time, Urahara felt like he'd finally taken more responsibility towards it and was on his way to digging himself out of the hole he'd created for himself.

So what if the store was downsizing on product? He was being smart: he wouldn't keep the non-sellers on inventory when that was money just getting thrown away.

Next was to work on a new marketing strategy. The sign out front was in need of new colorful paint: color really did help bring in business, as he'd seen from other stores across town. Something to draw the eye: green and white wasn't going to cut it if Urahara was going to keep the store.

Maybe run a cheap ad in the paper. He could live on cup ramen for months if it meant his store wouldn't be drowning anymore.

He'd just pulled on a pair of green pajama pants when there was a vicious knocking on his front door.

Urahara rolled his eyes, approaching the door and ready to give Grimmjow a good tongue-lashing. He'd come back twice since the last time Urahara had told him to stop coming to his house, to 'check up on him', but Urahara was sick of the unnecessary courtesy.

Urahara swung the door open, his protest dying in his throat as he stared up at the dark whiskey eyes of Zaraki Kenpachi.

His hair was down around his face, a button-up white shirt and black jeans. He looked amazing and smelled like he'd been drinking.

"I called you twice," he started, stepping into the apartment and pushing Urahara back as he closed the door behind him, "What'd I tell you?"

"I-I'm sorry, I was in the bath-"

"That sounds like an excuse," Kenpachi growled, his hands running down Urahara's sides and settling on his hips, rubbing small circles into the dips there.

"Kenpachi, wait-"

"No."

Urahara shivered at the tone as Kenpachi bit at his neck, his rough hands pulling Urahara closer.

"Nn, Kenpachi, no!"

Urahara used the wall he was against for more force as he pushed forward, forcing Kenpachi back a step, his expression questioning, furious.

"I-I'll do whatever you say, but not here. Anywhere but here."

"Doesn't look like anyone's home to me," Kenpachi replied, one of his hands playing with the slightly damp hair on Kisuke's neck. Urahara pretended it didn't feel good.

"You promised my son wouldn't get involved. If you want sex, it can't be here."

"I don't remember that part being in the contract," Kenpachi said, his other hand dipping down over Kisuke's ass to rub. Kisuke rolled his neck at the sensation, pushing back instinctually against the touch, "And you want it, so what's the real problem?"

Kisuke grabbed at the hand on his ass, trying to hold it still, "I'm serious, Kenpachi. You might've hit me like a whore, but I'm not one of your whores."

Kenpachi lifted his hands from Kisuke's body and put them on either side of Kisuke's head against the wall, "Did I say you were a whore?"

"You treat me like one," Urahara shot back, trying to stare into Kenpachi's eyes as defiantly as possible, "Yes, I sleep with you, but I have my pride. I have a son to provide for. I have responsibilities."

"You're nearly bankrupt. You're desperate. You need me."

Urahara lowered his eyes, making Kenpachi's gut twist around, "Then why don't I go work the streets? Turn tricks? I could pay you back that way. If I take on five or six johns a night, I could-"

Kisuke squirmed as Kenpachi's hands tugged suddenly at his hair, holding his body against the wall, his face deadly serious, "Are you fucking crazy? Do you think I _SHARE?_ Are you out of your goddamn _MIND?"_

Urahara felt tears pricking at his eyes, his scalp burning and his heart beating fast, "Why do you even care? Either I'm a sex slave, or I'm a sex slave. At least on the street I have more control over whether I get hit or not."

"I didn't mean to fuckin' hit you," Kenpachi spit, letting go of Kisuke's hair, "You were acting like I fuckin' robot, like a sex toy."

"That's what you wanted!" Kisuke said exasperatedly, "From the beginning this has been business! That's what this was supposed to be, and I'm not stupid, Kenpachi. You haven't touched me in a week!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Kisuke rubbed at his face, ran a hand through his hair, "It's been a week. I can't be the only one. If you made a business arrangement with me, then you could-"

Kenpachi slammed his fist into the wall, making Kisuke jump.

"You think I have contracts with every shopkeeper on the block? You think I fuck just anybody on the street who can't foot the bill?" Kenpachi said, his voice like acid, "Even if I did, then what? You sayin' yer jealous?"

Kisuke tugged at his own hair, "I don't know what to think! I barely know anything about you, what do you want from me? I'm sorry I have fucking emotions and doubts. It's not like you tell me anything: you just want my ass, and I want you too, I fucking know that, and I don't like feeling like that. I don't like thinking you have me and then go to somebody else!"

Kenpachi stared down at Urahara, saw the fire in his grey eyes. His stomach was doing flips and tricks and he didn't dislike it at all.

"There's only you, idiot," he said, grabbing Urahara's chin and kissing him, forcing his tongue in. Urahara pushed against his chest, but Kenpachi just put his hands on either side of Kisuke's face, locking him in, delving his tongue in.

Urahara's body began to relax, his hands tugging at the front of Kenpachi's shirt. Kenpachi's hands ghosted down over Kisuke's naked chest, making him shiver.

Kenpachi breathed into Kisuke's ear, "If you don't take me to bed, I'll do you right here against the wall."

Urahara sucked in a breath, trying to ignore his wakening cock in his pants.

Urahara nodded slightly, grabbing Kenpachi's hand and tugging him towards his bedroom.

Kenpachi gripped his hand back hard.

Kenpachi watched Urahara strip out of his pants and get on the tiny bed Kenpachi was about to break, his pupils dilated, his skin flushed red, his cock already up and dripping.

"So fucking sexy," Kenpachi said, removing his own shirt as he got on top of Urahara, spreading his legs wide to accommodate his waist. He dipped in for another long kiss, his fingers trailing over pink nipples.

Urahara's breathing seemed to change when Kenpachi's fingers brushed over the nipple studs, making Kenpachi smirk.

He dipped his head down, licking around each areola, tugging on the piercing with his teeth after he got Urahara good and worked up.

"Hnn, Kenpachi, just…"

"Shut up. I haven't touched you in a week. I don't wanna explode before I get inside you."

Urahara groaned at the words, Kenpachi's hand sliding up and down his cock.

He coated his own fingers in saliva before beginning to work at Kisuke's entrance, watching his body tense and jump at the slightest movements.

When Kenpachi inserted a third finger, Urahara arched his back and yelled, cum erupting and landing on his own stomach.

Kenpachi had to grab the base of his own dick to control himself: he could definitely get off just staring at Urahara, especially like this.

"You're so fucking gorgeous."

Urahara's legs were shaking, his own fist in his mouth as Kenpachi began to wiggle his way inside. When he was fully sheathed, Urahara was panting.

"Relax," Kenpachi soothed, running his hands over tense abs and shoulders. He leaned forward and down to suck on Urahara's lips, making the man moan, relaxing him slightly.

Kenpachi began to rock slowly, pulling Kisuke's leg over his thighs so that Urahara's legs were together, his body sideways. He'd wanted to try this position with Kisuke: it was supposed to be deeper and more pleasurable for both partners.

Urahara's mouth opened wide, a hand tugging at his own hair as he grunted at the deep penetration. Kenpachi started moving faster, addicted to the tight heat.

He'd missed this. He'd missed him.

"Ahn, fuck…fuck…" Urahara was chanting, one of his hands snaking down to grab at his own red cock and beginning to twist.

The sounds are what sent Kenpachi over the edge. He couldn't take it anymore. The blonde was too arousing, and the release was exactly what Kenpachi had needed.

He didn't pull out. He moved Urahara's hand and took over the jacking, his hand working faster with the precum.

Urahara thought he'd go crazy with the dull pulse in his ass and the hand on his cock. He screamed Kenpachi's name as he came.

Kenpachi finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and tugging Urahara with him to kiss him again. Urahara fisted his hands into Kenpachi's thick black hair, kissing him like a dying man.

Kenpachi's heart twisted again.

"That was so good," Urahara murmured.

"Your debt will be clear in a month."

Urahara's body stiffened against him. Kenpachi didn't move.

"W-what?"

"I put the money you'd given Ikkaku into one of my accounts. Turned it on one of my new shares. Doubled it. In a couple weeks, it'll have tripled."

"But that's gambling in this economy. You could lose it all."

"Then I just take the money out of one of my offshore accounts."

"I don't want you to do that."

"I'm gonna terminate this contract," Kenpachi said seriously.

"Why would you do that?"

"Cuz I don't date whores. I married one, though. Won't make that mistake again."

Urahara stared at Kenpachi like he'd eaten a baby.

"I wanna take this past the money. I wanna see where this could go. Buying you cheapens my feelings."

Urahara's eyes were huge, "Are you saying you want to…date me, Kenpachi?"

Kenpachi sighed, "Yeah. I guess that's what I'm saying."

"You actually like me?"

"How stupid are you? You're the only person I've ever done this for."

"How was I supposed to know that?"

"Everybody's saying I've been moping."

"I got jealous of your son."

"Huh?"

"That's why I – I thought when you were talking on the phone, when you said I love you, I thought it was another lover."

Kenpachi grinned, "So you were jealous."

"Maybe."

"Shut up and come here."

Urahara sighed as Kenpachi rolled on top of him, kissing him, making him feel a strange kind of happiness. This was so messed up. The man had hit him. This man was dangerous. He was a bloody yakuza whom he knew almost nothing about.

So why did it feel so good?

* * *

"So did'ya fuck 'im yet?" Gin asked.

"No, idiot," Grimmjow said, blue tooth attached to his ear. He ran a hand distractedly through his untamed blue locks, standing on the pier. Starrk was farther down, staring out at sea while Grimmjow pulled yen out of his back pocket to pay for the ice cream cones.

"Mah, how boring."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "Well excuse the hell out of me for boring you. Don't you have a redhead to fuck into oblivion?"

"He's takin' a shower," Gin snickered, "Said I was banned from bathroom sex 'cuz –"

"I don't wanna know, bro," Grimm said, beginning the walk back across the pier towards his 'date'. It was weird to say, and he felt like an idiot for holding two ice cream cones. If any of his yakuza connections saw him right now, they'd give him hell for the next ten years.

He was dressed casually in board shorts, a white v-neck, and flipflops. An unconventional first date, but hell, Grimmjow needed to make Starrk comfortable with him before anything else, and an afternoon/evening at the beach had seemed casual and fun enough.

And Starrk loved to surf. Good thing Grimm had a thing for the ocean or he would've been screwed.

"I gotta go. Tell Renji we're still on for tomorrow. Byakuya's being his usual bitch self."

Gin snickered again, "Will do. Have fun mounting tha' hippie god."

Grimmjow hung up on his 'older brother' and approached Starrk, trying not to stare at his ass the whole time, "Strawberry good?"

"Yeah," he said, taking one of the cones and licking it immediately, "My favorite, actually."

They both worked on their cones, leaning against the rail and staring out to sea. It was nice. Grimmjow had actually had a blast with the hippie today: he looked so lazy and laid back, but the man was a beast in the water. They'd paddled out so much today Grimmjow wouldn't admit that his arms were absolutely aching, even his chest.

Their boards were safe back in the cloth-topped jeep Grimm had borrowed from Nnoitra for the day. The dude was a total ass hole, but he'd owed Grimm a favor for a while now, and he'd chosen today to cash in on the opportunity to cover the jeep in mounds of sand from boards and shorts.

There was no way he was letting his Mazda get fucked up. The other Yakuza made fun of him for it sometimes, but he didn't care. He loved driving them: so fucking smooth.*

"So, turns out your actually pretty cool," Starrk started, beginning to crunch on his sugar cone.

"Glad you think so," Grimmjow said with a smirk.

"So what is it that you actually do? Never heard of Zaraki Debt Services."

Grimmjow looked at him and sighed, leaning back against the rail, "You know, I was beginning to think it was too good to be true."

"Hm?"

"You're far from stupid, Starrk. You know damn well it's a front. We're yakuza."

"Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you'd tell me the truth. Stupid, huh?"

"I get it. You're worried about Candy, but you don't have to be. They're made for each other. Christ, I don't think I could've found a better match for the big guy if I'd country-hopped."

"So they're getting serious?"

"I think so. It's definitely getting there," Grimmjow said with a shrug, crunching on his own cone now, "so did you actually have fun today or was it all business?"

"You mean, did I come to hang out with you because I wanted to spy or because I actually am interested in you?"

"Yeah, that," Grimmjow said with another smile, his head cocked, "Come on, lay it out on the table for me. It's not like I can ghost you here anyway. Too many witnesses and not enough bullets."

Starrk chuckled. Instant boner, that was.

"How about a little bit of both?"

Grimmjow leaned over and bit a chunk of Starrk's cone, chewing before answering, "Good enough for me. Any other subtle innocent questions you wanna throw my way before I ask you out again?"

Starrk smirked, "Sure. Wanna come back to my place?"

"Depends. You got beer and a PS3?"

"Of course."

"Then what are we still doing here?" he shot back, taking Starrk's hand and dragging him down the peer.

If anyone asked, Starrk wouldn't admit that he gripped back.

* * *

_A/N: What the fuck's happened to this story? Fluff everywhere. Dammit. I like writing dialogue way too much. Also, wasn't sure how telephone numbers work in Japan. Never thought about it, so I just went with an American system (you can make up Grimm's number in your head, lol). _

_*Mazdas. Ugh. I want one so bad. I drive my friend's everywhere we go when I'm with her. Swear ta god my ovaries die a little every time I drive one. Smoother than whiskey. _


	6. He Sells Sea Shells

_Apologies. Being an adult sucks: really struggling to get back to my passions due to work and a mountain of other excuses. Shit's about to get real with this story though, I think. Have a slight idea where this is going, so hopefully finish it up soon. -TPP_

* * *

**Tipping The Scales**

**Chapter 6: He Sells Sea Shells**

* * *

Kenpachi cussed under his breath as he heard his phone vibrating from somewhere in the room. Wherever his pants had landed, that's where he'd find his goddamn phone.

It took some maneuvering to get out from underneath Kisuke who's head had been on his collarbone, dead asleep. Kenpachi wished he was too: he wasn't so young anymore that four rounds of sex didn't threaten to put him in a coma.

He finally managed to slip out, Kisuke rolling over, his legs hopelessly tangled in sheets.

Kenpachi stumbled in the dark towards the buzzing, grabbing the damned technology before he threw it out the window.

"What?" he barked, careful of the volume of his own voice. He usually didn't give a fuck if business disturbed his past partners, but Kisuke looked so good passed out, snoring like a freight train.

"Sorry to disturb you, buchou, but I have pressing news."

Kenpachi was immediately more awake as the soft yet powerful voice projected through the speaker, "Yeah? What'cha got, Kuchiki?"

"We ran one of the scrambled codes through a new upgrading system Szayel has been working on. We have a general area to begin canvassing, although an exact location is impossible with the amount of data we recovered."

"So this Aizen fuck is still in the wind," Kenpachi finished for him, tugging on his jeans and fixing his belt.

"In a manner of speaking. However, we may be able to track down one, or more, of his moles. Apparently whoever Aizen hired to hack us was a bit of a narcissist: if he'd been even a tenth of a digit more careful, we would still be blind."

"Get on it, then," Kenpachi hummed, buttoning his shirt up, his piece going to the small of his back. Thankfully he'd disrobed himself tonight: he didn't want to think about how Kisuke would react to him being strapped all the time.

No need to scare the man more than necessary.

"Does this require a meeting, buchou?"

"Yeah. I want you and the pink freak to meet me at my penthouse in an hour."

"Shall I arrange for a team?"

"What is this, The Avengers? Get Nnoitra's ass out of the casino. I'll call Red and Blue myself."

"Of course, buchou."

"And Kuchiki?"

"Yes, buchou?"

"Order in. I'm fucking starving."

Kenpachi hung up and texted Gin to pick him up immediately. That done, he went to the bed and sat on the edge and rubbed Kisuke's shoulder until he started wiggling and blinked his eyes open.

"Mm – wha? What time…ugh, Kenpachi, it's three in the morning," Kisuke mumbled as he looked at the nightstand's neon clock. He didn't like being woken from sex comas, his body already protesting in soreness as he became more aware of his physical self.

He shifted again.

"Oh my god," Urahara grumbled into his pillow, feeling humiliated at how much his lower back hurt, his ass absolutely on fire.

"Sore?" Kenpachi murmured, one big hand beginning to knead at Urahara's lower back, making the man moan.

"Y-yeah."

Kenpachi hummed, rubbing more at Kisuke's sore backside, "Sorry."

Urahara turned his head on the pillow to try and look back at his…what? Lover? Official lover?

Potential BOYFRIEND?

"What's funny?" Kenpachi asked.

Kisuke must've snorted at the thought. He shook his head, "Nothing. Um, I mean, why are you up? It's an ungodly hour."

"Duty calls. Was gonna sneak off, but I didn't want you getting ideas," Kenpachi answered honestly, both of his hands kneading at Kisuke's back now.

"Mmm…you missed your calling as a masseuse," Kisuke sighed, enjoying how his heart felt too big at the thought of Kenpachi worried about Kisuke thinking of the man fucking and running.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. So…good and…gentle," Kisuke said, trying to keep his eyes open as he felt those warm, calloused fingers relaxing him back to sleep.

Kenpachi shook his head, watching his lover close his eyes, his breathing rhythmic and slow.

That was the first time anyone had ever said he was good, nevermind gentle.

He waited a couple more minutes, knowing for certain the blonde was asleep again before he leaned over and kissed Kisuke on his shoulder blade before getting up and leaving the room.

Now to deal with business.

He closed the door behind himself, effectively shutting Kisuke away from the shark that smelled blood in the water.

* * *

Starrk bit at his bottom lip again, a moan ripping out of his chest despite his efforts, his legs spread wide to accommodate a certain blue-haired yakuza's tongue.

"Ssssshhhhhh_iiiiit_," he groaned, throwing his head back against the back of his leather couch, the blue-haired younger man letting go of his dick only long enough to look up at him and smirk before performing more magic on his pounding erection.

"Nn, Grimmjow…"

"S'okay. Cum in my mouth."

Starrk's hips popped up at the words, Grimmjow's mouth barely closing over the head again before Starrk erupted.

He was sweating so bad he doubted he'd be able to pull his body away from the leather of the couch, which was ludicrous considering he was still wearing a light grey tank top. He was breathing like he'd run a marathon. He'd never in his life been this tired after a blowjob.

Fuck, that hadn't been a blowjob. That had been a mind fuck of epic proportions.

Just 'cuz the kid was young didn't mean he didn't know what he was doing.

He must've said it out loud because Grimmjow chuckled, grasping at Starrk's knees to hoist himself up from the floor, the front of his shorts tented severely in the front.

Starrk licked at his own lips, distracted by the thought that he had gotten so wrapped up in his own pleasure he hadn't thought of Grimmjow's. Obviously the hour and a half of hanky panky hadn't paid off for the blue-haired yakuza.

"You liked that, huh?" Grimm said saucily, standing to his full height and stretching his hands above his head, his tank top riding up just enough to expose defined hip bones and a thin trail of baby blue hair.

Starrk licked over his lips again and then was confused when Grimmjow wandered to the kitchen and grabbed a beer, popping the top and shaking it at Starrk, "Want one?"

"Sure."

What was going on?

Grimmjow grabbed another beer and plopped down on the couch beside Starrk, handing it to him before turning his eyes to the television, a woman letting out a loud scream as she was cut in half by a katana.

Starrk hadn't even remembered them watching the movie to begin with. He'd been a little distracted.

He eyed Grimmjow's crotch. Yep, Bulge Mountain was waving hello, but Grimmjow made no move.

He was leaned back, relaxed, sipping at his beer and watching the mayhem unfold on the TV screen.

This time a hot young man got his head chopped off, blood spraying in oozing rivers.

"Nah, it wouldn't happen like that. It'd spurt at first, little baby spurts. It wouldn't start oozing until the body hit the ground, starts coagulating," he said off-handedly, sipping at his beer again, "And the chest slashes? Vicious attacks like that, the blood pattern on the walls would be totally different, heavier. Movies like this piss me off."

Starrk looked at Grimmjow. How the hell had he forgotten that he knew next to nothing about this kid? He'd let a killer blow him on their first date.

Grimmjow made eye contact with him, his face serious, "Scared yet? 'Cuz that's the reality. Sometimes I disappear for days, sometimes weeks. My phone rings and I'm out the door most times. All that said: I'm serious about you."

He put his beer down and lifted his tank top, exposing the intricate scar work along his sides and the one extremely brutal looking one that Starrk had noticed at the beach that was across his whole chest, dark and puckered from age. Jesus, the scar was obviously years old, but if the kid was only 23, how old had he been when he'd been given such a brutal memento?

He dropped his shirt, "There's gonna be times I can't tell you anything, but you already know that, so let's skip the bullshit: I'm already feeling possessive of you, so you better know that if you're with me, you're mine and mine only. You'll figure out quick I get jealous."

Starrk just stared at him. Well, this was the most unconventional first date ever, but a part of him appreciated Grimmjow's bluntness.

It was almost cute.

Grimmjow was giving him a choice to walk away before he got invested, and that told Starrk that the yakuza could be a killer but he did in fact have emotions and feelings.

The other part of Starrk was curious, was appalled, was all kinds of worried over Grimmjow's past, of how many people he'd hurt or killed, but the intensity of Grimmjow's eyes at that moment told him that he was being quite honest.

Grimmjow got up from the couch, cracking his back and pulling his phone out of his pocket as it started to go off. He didn't answer in Japanese: Starrk had only ever heard French in movies. He was surprised: what Japanese mafia spoke French?

"Oui," Grimmjow finished, sliding his phone back into his pocket, "Gotta go. If you don't call, I get it."

He headed for the front door. Starrk's stomach rolled like he was going to throw up.

"Be careful."

Grimmjow threw him a smirk as he closed the door behind him.

"Bye, cupcake."

Starrk tried not to think about the fact Grimmjow hadn't made any promises.

* * *

"S'won't take long," Gin said with a smirk after hearing Byakuya and Szayel debrief the current situation, "Money talks, and the streets ain't so wide anymore: people network, dippin' fingers in other gangs where they don' belong."

"Let's just do this. Sooner we nab the fucker sooner you get to play with their brains," Nnoitra grumbled, stubbing out a cigarette as he stood up from the table.

Kenpachi wasn't surprised to see the notorious gambler with another stupid eye-patch, this one a deep blue satin. He was tall and lanky and covered in about as many scars as himself, but he was sharp with money and was second-in-command of the group's casino. He was the only one in the penthouse wearing a tailored suit.

"Mah, le's go, then," Gin said, getting up from his place at the table as well.

His partner Renji nodded. His throat was healing nicely, but he didn't talk much since the accident. The doctors said his vocal chords had survived the attack, but Kenpachi suspected the incident had left Renji with mental scarring as well.

"Arite, you're driving," Grimmjow mumbled, swinging a black bag over his shoulder Kenpachi knew carried capable guns with silencers and additional ammunition. Everyone had been instructed to bring their 'business bags' with them. Most didn't bother with actual luggage anymore considering they had the money to buy whatever clothing or toiletries they needed when sent out like this.

"Mah, we'll take turns," Gin decided, his own bag swung over his shoulder as he grabbed Renji's hand, "Le's roll, then, ne?"

"Don't call me until you've caught a rat," Kenpachi ordered, stubbing out a sweet-smelling cigarillo, "Don't bother transporting him back here."

Grimmjow, Gin, and Renji nodded once: a silent acceptance of the unspoken command.

"This Aizen ass hole is smart: don't go knockin' 'em all off until we got more information," Kenpachi finished, rubbing at his eyes, "Red and Blue only come out to play if shit goes south, got me?"

Gin smirked and nodded, knowing that his red-haired lover was too recognizable from his tattoos, hair, and reputation. Same went for Grimmjow, although he tended to keep a lower profile when demanded. Good thing they had Kuchiki and Nnoitra, two of Eleventh Division's smoothest talkers to get the waters stirring without bubbling the pot over.

"Yeah, we got this, boss," Nnoitra said, lighting a cigarette before throwing the door to the penthouse open. The gang flowed out behind him silently, Gin the last to close the door with nothing more than a promising grin.

* * *

Urahara sighed, wiping at his sweaty forehead, ignoring the bit of paint that had gotten on the front of his apron. The sign for the shop was now a bright, obnoxious green, sure to draw attention to the once dull-colored shop.

Jinta helped him break down the ladder and move it back to the storeroom, Kisuke surprised the red head had been willing to come in on a Saturday to help his old man out.

"No plans today, Jin?" Kisuke fished, taking one of the clean work towels and wiping his face clean of paint and sweat.

Jinta shrugged, "Nah, not really."

"No parties? No hootenannies? No delinquent shenanigans?"

Jinta raised a pierced eyebrow, giving his father that dubious look that was all Starrk, "No, not feelin' it today."

Kisuke smirked, "So in other words, Di Roy's busy."

Jinta shrugged again, tugging on one of his gauges.

Kisuke sighed, "Wanna tell me what's going on between you two? Are you fighting or something? You've never gone a day without that lil' braces brat tagging with you: how have you managed a week?"

Kisuke didn't want to admit that he himself was feeling a bit lonely. It'd been almost two weeks since Kenpachi had left his apartment. They'd shared a few texts, even a quick phone conversation when Kenpachi had a weekend business trip in China, but Kisuke hadn't physically seen the yakuza in so long he'd had to resort to whacking off in the shower like he was a teenager again.

Jinta leaned against the front counter, his eyes suddenly a bit more passionate, "He – he started going out with this – this total TOOL, a SENIOR. He's an ass hole, dad. I can't stand him."

"Oh," Kisuke said, noting how Jinta's face was red either from anger or embarrassment, "um, well, have you tried getting to know him a little better?"

"He doesn't want to be friends. He doesn't even want me to be around Di. I told him 'ta go to hell, which got Di upset. Whatever: if he can't see that dude for what he really is, there's nothing I can do about it."

Kisuke grabbed a pack of sour candies from the bin on the counter and threw it to Jinta. He caught it, staring at it.

"You've always been by his side, always protected him, even when he's made stupid decisions. What you need to decide is if it's worth it to continue to stay by his side as you always have, or if the relationship needs to change to fit the feelings."

"Fit the feelings?"

Kisuke sighed, "Jinta, I have no doubt in my mind you're in love with him."

Jinta's face was beet red as he practically snarled, "What? No I'm – I can't be, not like that. Of course I love him, he's my best friend, practically my brother, but I'm not…he doesn't…"

"Maybe this kid is a tool; maybe he's not, but whatever happens, I know that you're not going to let a lifelong friendship get destroyed over some senior who might be a player. Di means _way_ too much to you for that."

Jinta ripped open the pack of sour treats and popped some in his mouth, cracking them with his teeth, "I don't wanna fight with him anymore, dad. I hate it. Being at school is suffocating with that kid hanging all over him, it's like…I just wanna rip his throat out."

Kisuke smiled at his son, his head resting on a hand, "Oh Jinta, can't you recognize jealousy? It's Di's first relationship, the first person to ever come between you and Di. Taking up Di's attention, his time…and I'm assuming Di is happy?"

Jinta shrugged, "Dunno. He talks about him so damn much, and I just get so mad, and then we end up fighting the rest of the day. I guess so. I mean, if he wasn't happy, he wouldn't be with him, would he?"

Kisuke wished he could just knock his son's head into the countertop a few times until he understood, "What does Di _say_ about the boy?"

Jinta scratches at his temple a second, "That he's funny, and good-looking, and that he never thought he'd ever get a boyfriend, and that he can finally get over his crush he's had for a long time, but that's what we end up fighting over, 'cuz he's _never_ told me who this crush is, and I wanna know, 'cuz he's _gotta_ be better than the douche bag he's dating now. I'll even help him, I swore I would, but Di just tries to change the subject and it gets me all mad and then…we just fight some more, and I'm sick of it."

Urahara sighed, rustling Jinta's hair, "You know, for a genius, you're pretty dumb."

Jinta swatted his hand away, "Whad'ya mean?"

Urahara rolled his eyes, "Go talk to him, and I mean _really_ talk. Then _listen:_ that's the important part you tend to skip."

Jinta rolled his eyes, grabbing his skateboard from behind the counter, "Alright, but seriously, dad, I'm gonna end up punching him if he says one more gooey thing about his…boyfriend."

"Uh-huh. See you later," Urahara waved, the door tinkling as his precious son took off into the teenage angst abyss.

"Mow."

Urahara raised an eyebrow at Yoruichi, "What? That was perfectly sound parental advice and you know it."

Yoruichi flicked her tail and tilted her head before rubbing between his legs in a figure 8 pattern, "Meeeeeow."

"Yah, well, you'll understand when you have your own kittens," Kisuke said, picking her up gently to accommodate her growing belly, "More mouths to feed, oh joyous day."

Yoruichi purred as Kisuke lavished attention behind her ears and under her jaw, perfectly content with her favorite crazy shopkeeper.

But when the doorbell tinkled, she tensed in his arms, making Kisuke take in the human who had upset Yoruichi.

He was pretty average: taller, a bit wider in the shoulders, a mop of brown hair, glasses.

"Good afternoon," Kisuke said, setting Yoruichi down on the countertop, "and welcome."

"Good afternoon," the man replied, his voice a whispered chocolate silk. Goosebumps erupted on Urahara's neck and arms. Yoruichi hissed.

"I've heard many good things about your shop," the man continued, strolling closer to the front desk and plucking a lollipop from one of the display bins. Urahara's eyes immediately fell on the man's gold watch: designer, diamond inlaid points. Retailed anywhere between 1,500,000 and 2,000,000 yen, which was in stark contrast to his bargain bin white collared button down shirt and slacks. His shoes looked to be Italian leather, imported. Pricey.

Tan line from a pinky ring.

_Extrovert. Powerful, articulate, someone who knows how to pull strings._

Kisuke immediately was wary of this man: who spent that kind of money on accessories and not their clothing? He was no office worker.

The man smiled at him: Kisuke had to admit it was charming. The man oozed it.

"I'm not very well disguised, I see. So much for my power of illusion," the man said with a chuckle, leaning against the counter.

"Can I help you, sir?" Urahara replied, hoping he kept the tension out of his voice. He didn't keep a gun in his store: he'd never had trouble before, had never thought he'd ever need one.

For the first time in his life, he was thankful he had gotten bored in college and earned a few black belts.

The man smiled again, his arms loose at his sides, unthreatening, "You're already helping me plenty, Urahara Kisuke."

"Do I know you?"

The man smiled again, "Of course not, although we have a…mutual acquaintance. He's becoming a bit of a nuisance for me, you see, a challenge. It's delightful; it barely ever happens anymore these days," he said, unwrapping the lollipop and taking a bite out of it, cracking it and chewing, "but he seems like a hard-headed man, a rough man. But he isn't rough with you, is he?"

"I think you had better go," Kisuke said quietly, shifting back a step, his feet planted in a defensive position. Yoruichi had already disappeared, thankfully, "I don't want any trouble."

The man cocked his head slightly, "You know, at first, I didn't either. Things were going smoothly, but now things are starting to look ugly. His little ants are poking around my termite piles, and I'm sorry for that."

The man took off his glasses, wiping at the lenses with the edge of his cheap white shirt. He kept his eyes on his task as he said, "I'd like for you to deliver a message to him for me."

In the time it took Kisuke to blink, the man's arm had shot across the counter, anchoring into the front of his shirt, pulling his head into the counter so hard the sound made his ears ring. Disoriented, he fell back, managing to catch himself on his hands as he fell backwards. The man walked around the counter, staring down at him as he backed up, getting to his feet, falling into one of his preferred defensive positions.

"Tae Kwon Do," the man mused absently, running a hand through his hair, slicking it back off his forehead. Somehow, it made him look more regal, "This should be interesting."

Again, the man moved. How he moved so fast, Kisuke had no idea. He felt sluggish, his mind moving too fast for his body. Something was wrong.

"I never take chances with pets," the man said as he placed a small syringe on the counter, "they tend to bite."

Urahara stumbled back against the counter, his legs sliding out from under him, the muscles beginning to spasm in his legs. It tingled up his sternum and into his arms.

All he could think about was Jinta, that Jinta was safe. Jinta was away.

"Impressive, isn't it?" the man said, getting down on his knees in front of Kisuke and beginning to unbuckle his belt, "one of the fastest-acting paralytics in the world: completely paralyzes the muscles, although it doesn't dull pain or pleasure receptors. Fascinating, isn't it?"

Kisuke thought he was going to be sick. He was breathing heavily, but all he could feel was his heart pounding insanely fast in his chest, his lips, fingers, and toes feeling like they were imbedded in snow.

He tried to talk, but it was garbled nonsense.

"Oh come now, you're used to this," the man said, working at Urahara's belt and lowering his pants before pulling him into his crotch, Urahara's legs spread out over the man's strong thighs, "this is what you were bought for, pet."

Kisuke closed his eyes at the sounds he was making: they weren't quite screams. His windpipe felt tingly, wet, like it was bleeding. He could do nothing else as the man forced himself inside him unprepared, the ache so terrible he knew the wetness was blood.

"If Zaraki continues to pursue my people, my toys…" the man huffed between thrusts, "I will break _every_…_single_…piece…of you. Do you understand? I…will...skull fuck…your son…_in his sleep."_

The man finished: it was warm. Urahara wanted to die.

The man pulled out of him roughly. He reached forward and wiped the tears from Urahara's face, "Tell Zaraki that Aizen sends his love."

The man stood, adjusted his shirt, put on his glasses.

He pulled out his wallet, dropping a small yen note on the counter, "For the lollipop."

Urahara listened to the man walk around the counter, open the door. The bell tinkled.

Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it wasn't. Urahara closed his eyes, counting his heartbeats.

It took nearly half an hour for him to regulate his breathing. It was the only thing he could do as he waited to regain movement in his limbs. The pain in his ass was almost blinding, but he escaped to that part of himself, deep inside his brain where nothing could hurt him, where he was in complete control.

With his eyes closed, he catalogued his attacker. He re-drew his face over and over again: the exact color of his hair, his eyes. No dimples. Straight teeth. White teeth, the kind of white one gets from excessive whitening treatments. Pronounced nose, large hands. No tattoos or scars. No freckles. Slight accent. Italian, maybe. A half-blood.

_International mafia warfare?_

Urahara opened his eyes. His hands were flexing in and out, in and out. He tried wiggling his toes. They still felt cold, but they were beginning to burn. Circulation. Good.

He slowed his heart, continuing to catalogue, to process. He regulated his circulatory system through the power of his mind alone, shutting his emotions in the steel box he had crafted years ago.

He needed to move. He needed to heal.

He couldn't think of Kenpachi right now.

He was shaking. Good.

He closed his eyes and drifted, replaying the man's words over and over again.

Word for word. Delicate, precise. The tone, the subtle nuances.

The deadness of his eyes. A sadist and potential high-functioning psychopath.

Dangerous, demanding, vengeful.

And Kisuke had been thrown directly into his path.


End file.
